


Domino Effect, Butterfly Effect

by Borashore



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: 90s!Reddie, AU, Angst, But With a Dark Twist, Eddie is new in town, F/M, Fate tries its best, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hanbrough, Happy Ending, High School Musical!Au, It’s basically High School Musical, Losers help, M/M, Maggie and Wentworth are literal angels, Pennywise holds a grudge, Pennywise more like PETTYwise, Reddie, Richie helps, Richie plays basketball and doesn’t suck, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Teen!Reddie, The Losers are sixteen, and the Losers pay for it, because Derry fuckin sucks, because its the clown movie, benverly - Freeform, but not in the way he thinks, eddie is sick, high school fic, how do you tag, its a happy ending i swear, its the early 90s, rated M for Mom Jokes, richie is a dork, warning for homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21849175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Borashore/pseuds/Borashore
Summary: Sometimes, what you may think is the worst thing that could ever happen to you, ends up becoming the best thing in your life— crazy town, psycho bullies, destined friendships, enraged entities, surprise callbacks, newfound identities, forbidden feelings, and all. Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak can confirm.OrThe fic in which Maturin gives his OTP a second chance and IT holds a grudge.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom & Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kapbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39





	1. The Start of Something New

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I post here on AO3, as well as my first Reddie long fic! Chapters might take some time to come out since i take a pretty long process of editing and going through my beta reader to make sure I deliver the best content I can provide, but in the meantime, please enjoy! Leave comments, kudos or subscribe to keep yourselves updated!
> 
> -Lily

The clock struck eleven on his bedroom wall. The young man sat still atop his bed, watching— listening— as eleven electronic beeps follow before the house settles in silence once again. It takes another minute, maybe more, of listening. No shuffle through the floorboards, no creaks of doors opening or closing, no voices coming from within the walls and hallways of the building. All was silent. Once coming to this conclusion, Eddie Kaspbrak deems his mother sound asleep and lets out a breath of relief. Alright. Back to business.

For the twentieth time that night, Eddie checks his pockets, feeling for its contents. The sharp outline of folded paper met his fingertips and he swiftly dug in to pull it out. He holds it up to eye level, blue ink illuminating his face thanks to the light emitting from his desk lamp. His eyes scroll through the words scribbled on it, exhausting himself as he reads it for the fourth time that night. Afterwards, he settled comfortably on his bed, back resting against the bed rest, and reminiscing on a phone conversation he had various hours ago. 

_“Hey, Eddie, look I-I know stuff’s hard w-with your mom, you guys being new in town a-and all but please reconsider. It’s New Y-Years! She’ll let you off the hook.”_

_“That’s nice of you to think, Bill.” Eddie wrung the telephone cable between his fingers nervously, making sure to speak quietly so his mother watching TV in the next room wouldn’t hear. “But that’s not happening.”_

_“You have nothing to lose, I-I mean, w-what’s she gonna do? Tie y-y-you up to your doorknob?— Wait n-no she totally would.”_

_Eddie sighed. “Bill…”_

_“C’mon, Eddie, g-give me something.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“Eddie.”_

_Muffled shouting came from the other line, followed by a second sigh._

_“Time to go. I’ll be at the… the party waiting for you if y-you change your mind. The thing’s at the a-abandoned high school on 1670 D-Diedre Street.”_

_Eddie didn’t realize he was already jotting down the address on a used napkin laying next to him._

_“Be there.”_

_“Bye, Bill.”_

_Click._

Eddie folds up the paper again and sighs, leaning his head back and blinking up at the ceiling. Having just recently travelled all the way from New York to Maine, it took him great effort to make himself believe a fresh start was what he needed. _‘A new life, Eddiebear,’_ his mom had tittered earlier that week, having finished dropping the news of their move. _‘New friends, new place— a fresh, healthy, new start for your third year! No more of that running around in the mud nonsense from before. Things are different now!’_

Things are different now, she had said. Of course they were. When weren’t they? 

Eddie runs his hand through his unruly hair and exhales again. Okay, he thought. Time to weigh your options. If he goes to the New Years party, like his best friend Bill had very well insisted he did, he could chance at getting familiar with the town, its inhabitants and learn his way around. He could meet people; he could make friends. _‘Or you could very much get hurt’_ , his mother’s voice rang in his head. _‘This town at this time of night? You could catch a cold! Or worse! It’s not safe for a fragile boy like you, Eddie. Do you know what happens to boys like you out at night? They’re never heard from again!’_

“Shut up…” Eddie murmurs into the silence of his bedroom, effectively quieting it down into more or less a whisper. “Just shut up.” 

He side-eyes his window, the view of a tree branch glowing light blue under the moon’s rays and various dark houses in the distance adorning the snowy landscape beyond the glass barrier; the muscle hugging his heart clenches and he feels the all too familiar doubt creep up his spine for the hundredth time that night. He could always sneak out, he reasoned. Slip out through his window, climb down the tree, go to the party and return home swiftly and cautiously. His mother would never find out. He’d be careful. And it’s not like he’s a child anymore— he’s sixteen! Boys his age are always experiencing these types of things, right? Sneaking out, disobeying their parents and hanging out deep into the late hours of the night with their friends, without a care in the world. Eddie Kaspbrak is a teenager, damn it. He’s a teenager, he’s new in town and he wants to go to this party. Damn him to hell if he didn’t at least make up his own mind like a sane human being instead of sucking up to Sonia fucking Kaspbrak. Damn him.

Eddie huffs, shoulders squaring up (he’s been told he regularly does this whenever he has a goal set in his mind) and sits up straighter. He opens the paper again and studies the text that greets him in bluish, smeared ink:

_“1670 Diedre Street; abandoned high school.”_

_“Be there.”_ Bill’s words rang in his head, cementing themselves in Eddie’s final decision. _“Be there.”_

“Yeah,” He smiles, pocketing the note and standing up from his comforter, heading to his closet. He wonders which jacket he should wear. Maybe plaid? Yeah, plaid could look good under his favorite blue jacket with the fur-lined hood. And black boots? Black beanie hat with black mittens? Now we’re talking. “I’ll be there.” 

Making sure he was warm enough to move comfortably, and checking to see if his four layers of clothing did their job of making him look good, Eddie made his way over to the window; it wasn’t long before he paused, though. He eyed the small, blue inhaler resting next to his lamp and debated whether it might be a better idea to bring it along for the ride. Then at the image of his mother’s worried wails and thousands of bottles of medicine flickering in his mind, he shook his head and decided against it. No. No thank you. This was a “Mother-Free” night. He wasn’t about to change that.

Eddie clicked at his window, lifted it, briefly shivered at the cold, winter air, and slipped outside. He made sure to leave it unlocked, too, and climbed down the tree’s branches. One by one, he took his movements painstakingly slow, aware of his grip on the bark, his footing, his breathing— eyebrows knitted together furiously, lip between his teeth, Eddie was hard at work. Then, he stepped on a slick spot and slipped the entire way down.

_“Shit!”_ He hissed falling the remaining two feet of distance. “Oof—!” 

He landed solidly on his back, the snow somewhat cushioning his fall.

Eddie laid there, frozen, _frightened_ , that he had woken up his mom and messed up his entire escape plan. He waited, expecting to hear her worried wails as she called her name and found him outside, fully dressed, laying on the very cold, very dangerous snow. _‘The cold, Eddie! You’ll get sick! Come inside so I can keep you on house arrest until the foreseeable future or until you die! Want some meatloaf?’_

Moments passed and nothing happened. 

Had he actually done it, then? Was he good?

He sat up, shaking the snow from his hair, his beanie and neck. A scarf could have gone well, he now realizes, but it was too late to turn back now. He stood up.

Once his boots made solid, safe contact with the snow on his mother’s pristinely-cut lawn, he adjusted his mittens, tugged down his beanie hat over his ears and turned back to stare at the house in anticipation. No movements. No sudden, sharp noises of alert. Nothing. He was in the clear.

Wasting no more time, Eddie broke into a run down the sidewalk, making sure to avoid iced spots and any other dangers that may present themselves to him. But, be it as it may, he could hardly care less as a hearty laugh escaped him from the very depths of his chest. He did it! He snuck out! Eddie Kaspbrak was a free man!

Already five blocks away from his home, he stopped and dug out the folded paper from his jacket’s pockets and opened up Bill’s given address again.

_“1670 Diedre Street; abandoned high school.”_

Let’s do this.

===================

Sneakers squeaking against rubber floorboards fills the empty gym, the sound bouncing off of the walls, the bleachers, dimly lit lamps on the ceiling and baskets on each end of the floor. Although, maybe the word ‘empty’ wouldn’t be the most accurate to describe it as there were two people currently occupying it. One sitting on the bleachers and the other running across the court, dribbling a basketball in hand. He positions himself and shoots at one of the baskets; it goes in. 

“Woo!” The teen whips around, quasi-wet bangs flopping on his face and breath fogging his glasses. The ball bounces on the ground as it falls, the sound echoing each time. “See that right there, Billy? That was me winning the school’s championship game for the third time in a row! Just look at that gorgeous arch—“ He mimicked blowing a kiss. “Beautiful! Couldn’t have done it better! Never before seen— wow, rude, are you even listening to me?”

“Huh?” William Denbrough blinks away from his trance. “Oh, you sh-sh-shot another one?” The other teen groaned in response. “Sorry, Rich.”

He waved a hand at him dismissively, “No, no, it’s cool, I get it.” Richie Tozier swipes off his glasses, momentarily stares at the misty lens and wipes them with the hem of his green jacket before putting them on again. He made his way over to the bleachers and sat down next to his friend, basketball forgotten. “Still waiting on that friend of yours? Damn, hasn’t it been like, 2 hours already? Maybe it's time to accept that he's just not that into you, bro.” 

“F-F-Fuck off, Rich.” Bill smacks at the back of his head. “But, yeah. He h-hasn’t shown up.”

“Have you tried ringing him?” Richie offers.

“Yeah, b-but I figured th… that if he wasn’t picking up, he had a g-good reason.”

“Like not wanting to come to the party?”

“Or,” The strain in his voice didn’t go unheard in Richie’s ears. “M-Maybe he’s caught up. It is p-p-pretty dark outside, a-and the snow may not be h-helping.”

Richie hums. The greenish-gray light falling from the ceiling lights cast dark shadows on his face, making his pensive features look menacing. With a shift of his head, however, the effect disappears. “You wanna go out and wait for ‘im? It’s freezing cold, but I could go and hold it out with you.”

He watches Bill debate the offer. It takes maybe a second or two of wary eye shifts between his hands and his lap, before he comes to his decision. “No…” He shakes his head, bangs falling onto his eyes. “No, that’s okay. I think even if h-he wanted t-t-to come to the party, he... well, he wouldn’t be able to.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Bill stands up. “Plus, I-I have to go back in. I think Audra and Greta wuh-were looking for me. Something about the punch being spiked or-or whatever.”

“Huh.” Is the only thing Richie can think of saying. He watches Bill walk down the bleachers, tug his jacket closer to himself and turn to him.

“I’ll see you inside, okay?”

“Go get ‘em, ladies’ man. And don’t hog all that ass for yourself. Save some for those who were deprived of it like yours truly!”

An eye roll and a middle bird later, Bill disappears through the gym doors to move towards the cafeteria, where the party is being held. 

Richie exhales, letting the somewhat warm air of the abandoned gym embrace him. Now that he was alone, he considers going outside for a smoke. Then he thinks he can just do it right where he was sitting, already settled into the firm bleacher under him. After a minute, though, he decides to go outside anyway. Leaving the vibrating walls and humid building could do wonders for someone who wanted some good ol’ alone time. So, off he goes. 

He sits outside on the school’s front steps where the music and noise don’t reach him; a cigarette sits between his fingers, ready to be lit. There’s no light source around, apart from the bright moonlight shining down on the entire town, not a cloud in sight to disrupt it. Accompanying the moon are the many lit windows scattered across Derry, these being houses who still held themselves awake into the late hours of the night, waiting to welcome the new year. Otherwise, the night was dark, cold and silent. Perfect for some overthinking and reflecting. There was always something oddly comforting about letting yourself get lost in your thoughts, Richie thinks. If it ever consumed you, you’d be the only witness to your disconnection with reality. There’d be no shame in it. Especially if it was a frequent thing.

His left hand rises from his jacket’s pocket, revealing a lighter. He brings both it and the cigarette up to his mouth and lights it. Richie places it between his lips and takes a long, slow drag. Then he blows the smoke out, letting it mix with the cold, crisp air of winter, and lets himself disconnect with reality.

Richie Tozier was weeks away from starting his second half of junior year in Derry High, and saying he was excited for it might just be the biggest understatement ever. Sure, he could do without Mr. Sid’s stupid calc quizzes and Mrs. Darbus’s boring drama assignments like any other high schooler would, but what got him really stoked for this new semester was the school’s basketball championship game. They managed to make it in every year since freshman year; they got to win them too. Richie, as captain of the team, knows it’s an honor to be able to represent his school like that. Bringing home the championship trophy for the third time in a row. It only feels right for him to maintain their winning streak up until he graduates senior year. Of course, this means he can’t go on and bail out now. He’s gotta be stronger and smarter than ever. For the team. For his parents. For his future.

He might just nearly fuck it all up like he normally does. (Richie didn’t know it at the time, but he was about to pull his “ready to fuck up his future” card once he finishes this very thought).

A warm record plays from one of the nearest houses, filling the silent night. It takes a few more notes and lyrics for Richie to recognize it as Jerry Lee Lewis’s _Whole Lot of Shakin’ Going On._ He taps his feet to the beat and happily muses that the family has good taste. A bit old-school, but he could dig this. 

He watches an old couple step out of their car on the house’s driveway, all huddled up in warm layers due to the cold and carrying something in hand. Maybe fruitcake. They fuss about as they fix their jackets and scarves, tugging them closer to their bodies until they link arms and walk up to the door. Just then, someone else passed by on the sidewalk, not watching where they were going, and harshly bumped into them. Richie flinched as he saw the elder woman yelp and drop her cake. That is, it would have if the person who bumped her hadn’t swooped in and caught it before it hit the floor. 

Shifting in his spot far away from the scene, Richie tries to make out the situation. He sees the person’s frantic gestures, probably apologizing about crashing into them, and the old couple’s shake of their heads and raised palms. Most likely saying it was okay. The three exchange some more words before the couple seem to bid the person farewell and walk up to the door. Some knocks later, the door opens and the elders disappear inside, delivering another wave; the person waves back and the driveway is clothed in darkness once more, the light from the inside of the house shut out. The final notes of the record play out before that cuts off as well.

The cigarette sits still between Richie’s index and middle finger, forgotten, as he finishes absorbing what happened. Afterwards, a small smile settles on his lips and he leans back against the steps. Good to know this town wasn’t all shit after all. He thought nice people were extinct in Derry. Turns out they’re just in danger of extinction and hiding out like ants in an anthill. But that guy right there? Nice. (He may have only apologized for bumping into the couple, but, seriously, any other person would have screamed at the lady instead. Maybe even stolen the cake and pickpocketed the man. Derry’s fucked up that way.) 

Richie buries his right hand into his jacket and takes another drag of the cigarette, letting himself watch the guy walk away from the house and towards his original direction for the last time. He takes a few more steps down the sidewalk and once he stops under a stop sign at the intersection across the school, Richie zones out and stares off into space again. He slips into his mind again, reveling in the comfort of his thoughts, effectively drowning out the vibrating noise of the music coming from behind him. Another breath leaves him, crisp air making his lips chapped and tongue dry. Maybe he should have listened to his mom and brought a scarf with him. Oh well, can't turn back now—

Richie freezes, eyes unmoving on a spot of black at the other end of the street.

Was that…? No. No. It wasn’t. Must be a trick of the light— _yeah, the light_ — the dark warping enough to create figures that do his nightmares justice… But it looks like— No. there’s no way— he’s tripping. That’s it… But, it can't. Can’t it? Nah, he’s just hallucinating, there’s no way—

He shoots up from his seat in alarm. _That’s definitely him._

At the other end of the street, hidden in the shadows of the night, stands Henry Bowers: local bully and professional asshole (has two PhDs in _Fucking Prick_ and _Big Bag of Dicks, Fuck._ ). It took him awhile to figure out it was him, but once he did, he thinks he should have known. Of course he should. The blotch of red that is his coat is almost indistinguishable in the dark, yeah, but as unrecognizable as it was to anyone from a distance, Richie could identify that thing even if it was submerged in a sea of Hawaiian Punch in an instant. Most of his own blood had splattered onto that coat before, back when it was a pristine white. The fucker wears it like a badge with pride; a symbol of authority. And now? His eyes were locked opposite of him, unmoving, calculating— _menacing_ . Richie nervously follows his gaze and feels his blood run cold, colder than the air, when he lands on the nice guy from earlier. 

_No, no no, wait._

As if his thoughts were a trigger, Bowers starts to stalk his way over to his victim. Six other shadows appear beside him and Richie quickly identifies them as Victor Criss, Patrick Hockstetter, Peter Gordon, Belch Huggins, Gard Jagermeyer and Moose Sadler. _Fuck._ The nice guy still hadn’t looked up from whatever he was doing with his hands. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Son of a bitch. Fucking _shit._

Before he realizes it, he’s running down the steps, cigarette forgotten in the snow, and speeding his way towards the guy. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this— why is he _moving_ — _why are his legs moving?!_ He’s passed the front gates, all rusted up and rotted away, and continued making his way forward to the growing figure of the nice guy. He notices his thick, blue jacket and tuft of dark hair under a beanie and thinks: _“Fuck, I’m gonna have to help this guy, what the hell do I fucking DO?!”_

Bowers appears in his peripheral vision. Richie panics.

“YO, SCOTT, THERE YOU ARE, HA HA!!” Richie waved his arm in the air and the nice guy’s head shot up, startled. Richie feels a bead of sweat roll down his back. He ignores it. “SERIOUSLY, DUDE, YOU KEPT US ALL WAITING! WHAT’S THE HOLD UP?”

The guy looks around, confused. He pointed at himself. “Wha—?” 

Richie reaches him and hooks his arm around the guy’s shoulder. He realizes he’s really short. “YEAH. HA HA, OKAY, NO MORE STALLING, IT’S NOT A PARTY WITHOUT YOU! LET’S GO!!” Like a mad man, Richie yanks the guy towards the school, ignoring his surprised gasps and confused yelps. He risks a glance to his left. Bowers and his gang stand a few meters away, eyes following their every move. He can almost see the clench of a jaw and the grip of a fist on the red-coated boy. He speeds up his legs.

“What the— hey! _Fuck_ , what the _hell_ are you doi— _who are y—?!_ ”

“Pack of wolves. 8 o’clock.” Richie hisses, head hung low and voice a whisper. He keeps on pulling at the guy across the street and watches him register his sentence in pure confusion, startled eyes still persistent on his face. His head slightly turns to the left to look over his shoulder and Richie almost hears angels singing when he spots the guy’s features widen in surprise and realization. _Thank God._

“Shit.” The guy hisses. “Who are they?”

“Somebody else’s problem.” They reach the gates. Richie adds in a louder voice, “COME ON!!! THE PARTY’S INSIDE!!!” 

Imagine his delight when the guy actually played along. “THANKS. I’M SURE YOU AND SO MANY OTHER PEOPLE WERE WORRIED ABOUT ME. YOU KNOW, BECAUSE I WAS OUT HERE LOOKING FOR YOU, MY FRIENDS THAT I CERTAINLY HAVE.”

“WE SURE DID, SCOTTY,” Richie laughs nervously. He pulls him up the steps, passes the discarded cigarette on the snow and pushes at the entrance door. “WE SURE FUCKING DID.”

The doors slam shut behind them and their shoulders give out right after. 

“Oh my god.” Richie bends and leans a hand on his knees. The guy follows his movement, breathing out as well. “Oh sweet peppermint _whiskey._ Fuck, that was… _Jesus._ ”

It takes some time, maybe ten seconds, before they’ve caught their breath and regulated their heartbeat enough to comprehend an average train of thought. They straighten their posture and acknowledge their position. Richie quickly unwraps his arm from the guy’s shoulders and steps back, giving him some space (or maybe Richie was the one who needed space. Derry is always watching). In the semi-dark, he’s met with round, doe eyes filled with wariness and, most predictably, gratitude.

“Hey,” The guy takes off his hat, revealing a curly mop of chestnut brown hair sticking out every which way. Cute. “All that… who were… what was…those people— what...” He opens and closes his mouth, starting a new sentence every time but never finishing it. In the end he settles for: “Thanks.”

Richie huffs. A puff of cold breath appears, brushing away one of his bangs. “Yeah, sure. Dealing with that A-class fucker? Wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

The guy stares at Richie. Then he turns back to his beanie and places it atop his head again. Tufts of hair pop out from under it; Super cute. “So those guys back there… bad news?”

For a second, Richie thinks the guy _must_ be joking. Who in Derry doesn’t know who the Bowers gang are? Seriously? You’re more bound to know them if you’re a high schooler and this guy didn’t look a day over Richie’s age. Then again, it _was_ pretty dark outside. Maybe he hadn’t been able to discern the Devil within the darkness by just glancing over his shoulder while speed-walking the opposite direction. Understandable. Unreal, but understandable.

“Yeah, Henry Bowers and his crew aren’t the type of kids you’d invite to your birthday party.” Richie answers, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as they start to slip. “Unless, y’know, you want all your gifts stolen, a throbbing black eye, bloody nose, split lip, two bruised ribs and a weeping grandma. Otherwise, you may approach the beast.”

A snort leaves the short frame and it’s then that Richie realizes he has never seen this person before in his life. And he’s seen a _lot_ of people (he should know. His dad’s a dentist.)

“So,” He pushes his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “You end up lost out there or were you going somewhere specific? Cuz if so, we’re gonna have to wait out Bowers before you step out of here.”

The guy’s eyes widen. “Oh! No, no! Wait—!” He digs out a small piece of paper from within his pocket. “I was… I was looking for this party, y’see. Find out where it was and all that.” He shows it to Richie. In the small, neat handwriting, the words _Deidre Street_ can be made out. The rest blended with the dark. 

“Welp. If it’s a party at Deidre Street you wanted, you found it.”

The guy blinks. “I did?”

Richie holds up a hand to his ear and gestures to the dull throb of music vibrating through the rough walls of the abandoned school. You can vaguely make out the lyrics to Bobby Day’s _Rockin’ Robin._ (Again, good taste.) The guy listens intently and Richie’s chest inflates when he notices the outline of a bright smile forming on his lips.

“That’s great!” The guy exclaims. “I made it after all!”

Richie nods, his curls bouncing with the movement. Without a thought, he adds: “Need some help navigating the place? The party is over at the cafeteria. I can lead you there, if you’d like.”  
He isn’t someone to be overly generous to some people he just met, or doesn’t know overall, but finds himself offering anyway. Weird. 

The grateful smile was now directed towards him. “Yeah! That… Yeah, appreciate it.”

Another nod and Richie spares a glance outside the window next to the entrance doors. Bowers and his goons are gone. After that comforting thought, he turns to his left and walks over to some double doors. “Great, so, uh, just follow my lead… uh…”

Few seconds pass before he gets an answer.

“Eddie!” The guy blurts, as if he’d forgotten he had a name. “My name is Eddie.”

“Well, Eddie, secure your seatbelts and keep your very short arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times. Make sure to keep up as you enjoy your Tozier Tour.”

“Tozier Tour?”

“Yeah, as in, Richie Tozier— uh, Richie.” He turns briefly to hold out his hand. Eddie shakes it. “Name’s Richie.”

“Huh,” Eddie smiles and the night seems to have gained another light source. “Well, Richie, lead the way.”

“Da’ I will, mah good seh, Edwa’, seh!” He piped, using one of his newest Voices. He doesn’t know what to call it yet, but he’s been practicing nonetheless. “Onwards into dah deep, da’k abyss, wit’ ye, dear fellow! On ye go!” 

He doesn’t miss the bulging of Eddie’s eyes. Or maybe it’s just the dark making them look that way. Either way, Eddie was caught off guard. “What the fuck was that?”

Richie pushes the double doors and holds them open for him. “Wha’ever ye mean, seh? ‘S jus’ me spittn’ some o’those word’ o’ wise.”

Eddie walks through. “I have no clue what you just said.”

“Not tah worrey yer pretty lil’ head ovah mine spouts, Edwa’, seh, jus’ follow ol’ Richie an’ ye’ll be fine. Come along, les’ ye wish to lay strandeh in da cold.”

The newcomer shakes his head and mutters under his breath. “Fucking Derry, man…”

Richie hears him and laughs, turning a corner. He welcomes the dark like home; in a way, it is. “Dis way!” Lighter footsteps sound behind him, matching his pace.

“You could be a serial killer for all I know, why am I even trusting you?”

“Ol’ Richie wou’nt hurt a wee fly, good seh. Promise!”

“Sounds like something a serial killer would say.”

“Den ol’ Richie woul’ be a nice seriah killeh jus’ fo’ ye, seh.”

“Would you at least make it look like an accident?”

“Jus’ fo’ ye, seh.”

“And let me write my will?”

“Only ye, seh.”

“How about burying me in a cemetery?”

“No can do, seh.”

“What, why?”

“Ol’ Richie’s gotta haf ‘iz lunch sumn way, don’ he?”

Eddie’s laughter echoes in the dark hallway; Richie smiles.

===================

“Whoa.”

Music. That’s the only accurate way to describe the party. Just a lot of loud, booming music.

Once they’ve reached the cafeteria doors and opened them, Eddie found himself drowning in vibrating waves of sound, rocking and shaking him down to his very core; he’s certain he can feel his heart rattling its cage inside him. It’s so much so, in fact, that Eddie almost forgets it’s music and mistakes it for an earthquake. At this, alarms instantly rang in his head, thinking of the worst. Of course, he only manages to realize the contrary when he notices his hand diving to his back pockets, searching for his missing inhaler, and stops. Obviously, he had left it at home, he knows this (he’s convinced he doesn’t really _need_ it; his mom begs to differ), but the action had still been made. Eddie huffs at his reaction and opts for burying his hand in his jacket’s pockets instead; he glances up at Richie Tozier.

The guy couldn’t be older than sixteen. Wild, dark curls framing his angular face, bright eyes blown wide from the big, blocky glasses atop the bridge of his nose, and a tall, lean figure clad in a green hoodie and grey coat. Eddie could tell he was very well in a healthy shape too. Athlete, maybe? Yeah, maybe. Good looking too (not that that was important information). 

The sound of a throat clearing snapped him out of his thoughts and he quickly realized he had been staring; Richie noticed too. “Sorry!” Eddie says, straining to speak over the music and people talking. “What was it?”

“I said—” Richie all but shouts. _“Are you going to go inside or do you want me to do that for you as well?!”_

He’s not sure, but Eddie thinks his cheeks just flushed in embarrassment. He dips his head and shakes it. “N-No, I’m going.” Then raises his head a bit. “Thank you, Richie!”

The other gives him a thumbs up. “No problemo, Eduardo!” He then shoves at Eddie’s shoulder towards the party. Eddie stumbles inside. “Go crazy, you animal!”

“Wha—?!” Hands scramble to fix his hat before he turns to the door again. “You don’t have to push me you know—!”

But Richie was already gone.

Startled, Eddie makes his way back to the doors and peeks his head out to the dark hallways, searching left and right. Silent. Empty. No Richie. “What the hell…?” 

Finally resorting to ignore it, Eddie turns to the bright colors and loud sounds of the party and lets himself drink it in. He did it. He successfully snuck out of his home and got to his destination. The experience, as Eddie could very well put it, was thrilling. He could still feel his rapid heartbeat drumming in his ears, his palms starting to sweat within his mittens and his breathing speeding up its process from his lungs out. It was new, strange and exciting. Addicting too.

Greedily, Eddie takes in everything in the spacious room: the bright purple, blue and yellow colors, the dangling fairy lights on the ceiling, the big, black speakers set next to the wide stage in the center of the room, the two (very likely drunk) girls singing karaoke on said stage, the snack bar filled to the brim with party food, the teenagers dancing around, talking, singing at the top of their lungs, couples laughing and drinking, children running about, squealing, parents laying around on tables, peacefully enjoying the celebration… It was almost too much. So warm, so happy, so comfortable. (Nothing like the town parties back in Queens.) The abandoned cafeteria doesn’t even feel abandoned at all; it was full of life. Eddie feels giddy just imagining all the things he could do here. And so, instead of settling for his imagination, he makes his way to the snack bar.

It’s another five minutes when he’s already settled down on a table a bit further away from the commotion and calmly eating away at a slice of strawberry shortcake (Sonia Kaspbrak would’ve had a stroke) next to a mother quietly speaking to her husband, her sleeping toddler in her arms. He watches the two girls up on stage belt out the best of their singing abilities (and they’re not half bad) as well as improvising their own choreography. Their energy and enthusiasm reaches out into the crowd like waves, everyone laughing and dancing along. Eddie feels a giggle rise up his throat too, yet swallows it down with more cake. He debates standing up to get another slice. 

“Alright! Give it up one more time for Lisa and Melanie, everybody!” A young man jumps on stage and laughs, patting one of the girls on their shoulder. They stumble on their way down. “Now, are we all ready to move on to some holiday jams or are you up for one more karaoke?”

Whoops and cheers sound from all around at the second option and the guy laughs again. “Perfect! Any volunteers or should we resort to spotlight choosing again?”

The crowd starts chanting “SPOTLIGHT! SPOTLIGHT! SPOTLIGHT!” and Eddie raises his head in blissful curiosity. What was happening?! What was spotlight choosing?! This was all so exciting!

“Perfect!” Said the young man. He stuck out his hand at a defined direction and exclaimed: “Spotlight choosing! Let them loose…” Everybody started stomping their feet and slamming their fists on the tables in the form of a drumroll; Eddie joined them, hitting the table in front of him. “NOW!”

And just as a white light blinded his sight, Eddie’s night took a turn for the worse.

================

Richie drums his fists into the snack bar as they prepare to do the spotlight choosing. He had to admit, as entertaining as it was, he always felt bad for the poor suckers who always got picked in this game. Not that he’s complaining. He’s never gotten picked and he thanks whatever entity up in the sky has let it stay that way. He wouldn’t know what to do if he ever got chosen. Richie would most likely die.

“NOW!” 

_“SHIT!”_ Richie hissed, lifting his arm to block the sharp, bright light from burning his eyesight (or what’s left of it) away. No way. No fucking way. 

It fell solid and still on his frame and for a split second, Richie felt like a statue. Breath held, limbs frozen and figure white as a sheet. Ice cold. _There was no way._ He slowly lowered his arm, squinting, as he watched people turning to him cheering and clapping. _No fucking way._

He noticed another spotlight shining down at the opposite side of the room, furthest away from him. Hesitantly, he let himself lower his gaze to find out who was victim number two. His eyes bulged from behind his glasses. _Fuck._

Under the bright light, what he thought to be dark hair earlier was actually light brown, almost blonde, curly tufts of soft locks belonging to the one and only: Nice Guy Eddie, who sat mouth agape, surprise etched on his whole face. It didn’t take long for him to lock eyes with Richie and let the terror sweep his face. Fucking _fuck._

“Alright! Here we have our two participants! Step right onto the stage!” The guy on stage (some dude named Luther. Richie’s dad calls him Chewbacca for some reason) said, already stepping away for the two of them to walk up and stand in front of the mic stands; neither of them moved. “Come now, don’t be shy! The stage is all yours!”

The crowd’s cheering grew, encouraging both boys to stand up. Richie could almost assume Eddie was about to have a heart attack right on the spot, judging by the look on his face. Not that Richie felt any better. On the contrary, he was terrified.

To his immense surprise, though, he saw Eddie slowly get on his feet, eyes not leaving Richie. He watches him shakily make his way to the stage and step on, placing himself in front of the microphone stand. If he observed closely enough, he could make out small twitches in Eddie’s fingers as if reaching for something. (Or, maybe in this case, _someone_ ). 

Without thinking about it twice, Richie stands up; the crowd rejoices, whistling and clapping, and follow his movements as he, too, makes his way up the stage. It takes another ten seconds— ten _excruciatingly_ long seconds— before they’re both in front of their mic stands still staring dumbfoundedly at each other. They have no clue what just happened and how to stop it. What do they do?!

Music starts playing through the speakers. 

Their bodies jolt and go to stare at a small screen facing them. Richie wondered if that had always been there.

The crowd cheers, moving to the beat and, with a start, Richie realizes the song playing out is Footloose. The screen says his lyrics are in blue, Eddie’s are yellow. He then turns to the boy in question.

He’s frozen. That’s the best he can describe him. Scared shitless, standing there, gripping the microphone like a lifeline. Richie would try to make him feel better, maybe spare some comforting words and a joke to go with it too, but the screen shows the last three beats of the instrumental and he’s out of time. So, Richie grabs the mic and does what he knows best: opens his mouth.

_“Been workin’ so hard,”_ He sings. _“I’m punchin’ my card. Eight hours? For what? Oh tell me what I got.”_ He plucks the microphone from the stand and faces Eddie; he tries to catch his attention. _“I got this feeling that time’s just holding me down.”_ He makes eye contact with him and holds it. Richie tries for a smile; it sort of works. _“I’ll hit the ceiling or else I’ll tear up this town!”_

In the best Richie way of making someone laugh, he becomes a clown on stage. 

He jumps and starts dancing wildly to the beat, his hair flying every which way (his glasses nearly following suit), and becomes the center of attention. The crowd laughs and dances along. 

_“Now I gotta cut loose! Footloose! Kick off your Sunday shoes!”_ He sharply kicks his feet. _“Please, Louise! Pull me off of my knees!”_ He acts out his lyrics, putting on a show for the audience. He can see Eddie starting to smile. _“Jack, get back! C’mon before we crack! Lose your blues. Everybody cut footloose!”_

There’s whooping and more cheering. Richie looks at his companion eagerly, hoping his methods of calming him down worked. Surprisingly, it did. Eddie shot out his arm and plucked the microphone from his stand too, now staring off at Richie with a determined look on his face. _Wowza._

_“You’re playin’ so cool,”_ Eddie’s smooth voice rings through the speakers and the crowd goes nuts. _“Obeying every rule. Deep way down in your heart, you’re burnin’, yearnin’ for some—“_ He shifts his mic from one hand to the other and walks to the beat of the song around the stage, eyeing Richie. It’s enough to make his head spin and his heart beat fast. _“—somebody to tell you that life ain’t passing you by.”_ He grins at Richie’s agape expression. _“I’m trying to tell you, it will if you don’t even try!”_

And then, Richie swears he’s having a stroke, because the guy actually _mimics_ his stupid antics and starts flailing like crazy. He watches Eddie jump and lose it. 

_“You can fly if you’d only cut loose! Footloose! Kick off your Sunday shoes!”_ The fucker actually copies Richie’s kicking. _“Ooh-whee, Marie! Shake it, shake it for me!”_ Eddie twirls and shakes his hips; the crowd follows. _“Whoa, Milo! Come on, come on, let’s go! Lose your blues. Everybody cut footloose!”_

And just like that, the audience joins in on the singing, clapping to the beat.

_“Cut footloose!_

__

_Cut footloose!_

__

_Cut footloose!”_

Richie and Eddie lock eyes again, reaching a non-verbal agreement. They turn to the screen and focus on each of their respective words.

_“You’ve got to turn me around!”_ Richie starts.

_“And put your feet on the ground.”_ Eddie continues.

_“Gotta take the hold of all!”_

The look at each other and grin. Oh, why the hell not? Time to put out all the stops.

_“I’M TURNING IT LOOSE!”_ Both boys scream into the microphone together. Somehow, the screaming sounded just as good as the singing. _“FOOTLOOSE! KICK OFF YOUR SUNDAY SHOES!”_ They kick out their legs in sync, skipping in place, laughing. The teenagers, parents and children begin to mimic their moves too, some even dancing on table tops. _“PLEASE, LOUISE! PULL ME OFF OF MY KNEES!”_

_“JACK, GEHT BAHCK!”_ Richie uses one of his Voices to sing this line, a British one. _“COME ON, BEFO’ WE CRAHCK!”_

Eddie nearly misses his next line, too busy choking in laughter. (Were those tears in his eyes? Richie muses) _“LOSE YOUR BLUES—!”_

_“EVERYBODY CUT FOOTLOOSE!”_

They repeat the verse, now doing this little dance move, clapping from side to side, encouraging the audience to do so too. 

_“FOOTLOOSE! KICK OFF YOUR SUNDAY SHOES!_

_PLEASE, LOUISE! PULL ME OFF OF MY KNEES._

_JACK, GET BACK._

_COME ON BEFORE WE CRACK._

_LOSE YOUR BLUES—“_

_“Everybody cut! Everybody cut!”_ Richie runs his hand through his tangled hair, eyes stuck on Eddie’s profile.

_“Everybody cut! Everybody cut’”_ Eddie shoves off his hat, brownish-blond curls shining under the fairy lights, and tries to fix his now sweaty hair too. He smiles at Richie.

_“Everybody cut! Everybody cut—“_ They point the mic to the crowd. _“EVERYBODY!”_

_“EVERYBODY CUT FOOTLOOSE!”_ The cafeteria booms together the last line, and when the final note plays, cheering replaces it. 

He’s breathing heavily, fogging up his glasses, he knows, but Richie can’t bring himself to move from his spot. He’s just… absolutely _floored._ What the fuck just happened?

Eddie is also breathing hard, but not as much as when Richie saw him frozen under that spotlight. This one’s more as if he’s just ran a marathon and is catching his breath from the lengthy exercise. And quite the exercise it was. Neither of them have dropped their eye contact, nor their microphones. 

“WHOA! EVERYONE GIVE IT UP FOR RICHIE TOZIER AND… UH, WHAT’S YOUR NAME, DUDE?” The guy from before now has his own mic and is up on stage.

“Eddie.” He never moved an inch. Nevertheless, Richie could see the start of a smile on his lips. Or the start of _something_ at least. “Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“RICHIE TOZIER AND EDDIE KASPBRAK, ANOTHER ROUND OF APPLAUSE, FOLKS!”

Drumming on table tops, whistling, whooping, squealing and clapping— Was it always like this for other participants, Richie ponders. It’s just karaoke. Did it always feel this amazing? This fantastic? How you think you can float over any and every cloud in the sky forever? Or was it just him?

_‘Or was it just **him?** ’_ A small voice at the back of his head pipes up his opinion and Richie is left dumbfounded at it. _‘He seems like a really nice guy. Cute guy.’_

Richie swallows. Nice guy, huh.

He sees Eddie’s lips moving and zones back in. “Sorry— What?”

Eddie arches an eyebrow and smiles, amused. “I said, _‘That’s quite the lungs you’ve got there, Tozier.’”_

Oh. “Thanks,” Time to pull out the big ones. “they’re not as great as your mom’s were last night though.”

His face morphed into what can only be described as pure horror and disgust. “What the _FUCK_ , RICHARD?!”

And Richie was laughing again, shoulders hitching and shaking as he tried to control it. He’s witnessed many reactions to his vulgar comments. This one was new. “Did… did you just c-call me _Richard?”_

Eddie easily ignored that question. “You’re fucked up.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Can’t believe you just said that.”

“I did.”

“Unbelievable.”

“It’s true, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby.”

“Your mom didn’t mind when I called her baby as I went behind her on all fours t—“

“FUCKING SICK,” Eddie turned and stomped off the stage, hands up in surrender. “OH, YOU’RE DISGUSTING!” Much to his annoyance and absolute surprise, Richie followed closely, holding onto his stomach as he continued to wheeze out laughs. “And here I thought you were a cool, civilized guy. Unreal.”

“Eds, the only unreal thing in all of this is you assuming a guy from Derry could be civilized. Which reminds me: you’re not from around here are you?”

The short boy spun around so quickly, Richie barely managed to halt in time before crashing into him. “What did you just call me?”

He blinked. Huh? “What? Is… isn’t your name Eddie?”

“That wasn’t what you said. What did you say?”

“Uh… Eds—?”

“Don’t call me Eds.” The interruption was sharp, cold and precise. Richie blinked again, surprised. Oh?

“What?”

“Don’t. Call me. Eds.”

Oh. _This_ was new. Richie felt a smirk forming but made an effort to hide it. Let’s see where this goes.

“So no Eds?”

“No.”

“How bout Eduardo?”

“What?”

“Eduardo.”

“No.”

“Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Hell no.”

“Eduardo Spagwardo.”

“Just call me Eddie, please.”

“Nah, I think maybe I’ll just settle for Eds.”

“I just told you not to call me that, you prick.”

“But it’s such a cute name!” _Like you_ , the small voice in Richie’s head added. He pushed it back again.

“Forget it. No.”

“Oh come on, Spaghetti.”

“Look,” Eddie had already made his way past the crowd and onto a table, closer to the cafeteria exit. “It’s easy. Don’t call me that nickname and just go with Eddie. You don’t see me calling you Dick, now do you?”

“It won’t be long before you start calling me that too, ask anyone.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Okay! Okay!” Their squabble was nearing a point where Richie could sense was dangerous territory. “Okay. You win. I’ll call you Eddie.”

The short one stares for a while. He then lets out a deep sigh and drops onto a chair. “Thank you.” 

“... when in front of other people. Just you? I like Eds.”

A groan. “Fuck you, you fucking dick.”

“See? About time your own ‘Dick’ popped up.”

He saw the hints of a laugh shake the smaller boy, then the bite of his lip and his efforts to cough and push it down. “You’re a disgusting, uncivilized child. I can’t believe I followed you in here.”

“If you hadn’t, you would have missed the party and maybe still be outside keeping Henry Bowers and his goons company.”

“Any company is better than whatever crap you’re pulling out right now.”

“That’s not the only thing I can pull out.”

“I wish I never met you.”

“You’re pretty cool yourself, Eddie.”

And that’s when Eddie lets the smile proudly adorn his face; that’s when Richie realizes he just stumbled into a rarity: a potential friend. 

Richie regards the thought with a grin of his own.

_“Eddie?”_

Both boys turn to the source of the abrupt name and stare; Eddie shoots up from his seat.

“Bill!” He sidesteps the table and lunges at the taller boy. This one wraps his arms around him in a tight hug; Richie merely watches in shock.

They break apart. “I thought th-they had you on hou… house a-a-arrest!” Bill exclaims, holding Eddie at arms length.

“I snuck out!” Eddie says. “I wanted to be here really badly, Bill, sorry I wasn’t able to find you as soon as I arrived.”

“No! No, that’s f-fine!” He smiles. “I’m glad y-you’re here.”

“Yo,” Richie holds up his hand. “Hey, one question: what the fuck?”

Bill raises an eyebrow. “Rich?” 

“Wait, you two know each other?” Eddie looks between the two. Richie turns to him, bewildered.

“Do _we_ know each other? Do _you_ know each other is what _I’m_ asking. What’s going on?”

His eyes follow Bill as he settles into their table; Eddie sits next to him and Richie directly across. “Eddie and I go a b-bit back. Well, m-more than a bit. Y’know t-those sum… sum— summer trips I have every y-year?” Richie nods. “Five years ago, Eddie went to the same camp as I-I-I did. Became friends a-and exchanged numbers. Saw each other e-every summer.”

“Holy cow. Why didn’t you tell me you knew Stuttering Billiam over here, Spaghetti?”

“Don’t call me that. And you never told _me_ you knew him either, so you’re one to talk, dickhead.”

“Wait,” Bill holds up his hands, staring between them, confused. “How- _How_ do you two know each other a-again?”

“I saw _Eddie_ here outside the school while I was out for a smoke. Saved him from Bowers and brought him to the party.”

“He was generous that way.” 

“I was generous that way.” 

“Huh.” Was all Bill said. “So, you two g-got to know ea… each other w-well?”

“Enough to know he’s an immature, 13-year old with no regard for people’s personal boundaries.”

“That’s Richie alright.”

“Hey! Not true! I’m turning seventeen in three months! That’s plenty old!”

“You hearing this shit, Bill?”

“H-Have been for the past tuh-ten years. It’s a frequent t-thing.”

_“Christ.”_

“Anyways,” Richie leans forward on the table, propping his head on his hands. “You just missed the greatest belt out of all time! There was a spotlight choosing!”

Bill only gives a questioning glance Eddie’s way, growing more curious once he’s met with a shy look in return. “And?” He said.

The boy in the glasses grins. “And Eds and I were chosen! We had to go up there in front of all these people like sacrificial lambs or some dumb shit and sing! And we _did!_ It was awesome and you _missed_ it!” 

“Don’t call me Eds.”

“W-Wait, you were picked in the spuh-spotlight choosing?!”

Eddie stops glaring at Richie and nods at Bill’s question, sighing while scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, it, uh, it caught me by surprise.” Richie agreed.

“Yeah, same goes for me.”

“Holy crap.” Bill breathes, an air of amusement to his voice. “And you actually w-went up there?”

“Yep.”

“A-And I missed it?”

“Naturally.”

“Damn…” A pause. “Was it any good?”

“Not half bad, actually.” Eddie spits out, faster than Richie ever expected. “I, on the one hand, was shitting my pants at first, but once I got on stage, Richie just…”

He drifts off. Richie and Bill watch him expectantly for the rest of his sentence (though I think it’s safe to assume both boys were expecting completely different things, even if one of them wasn’t fully aware of what they were expecting _exactly_ ). They wait silently. Eddie opens his mouth again.

“He made a fool of himself.”

And the spell was broken. Richie hunched his shoulders with a dejected sigh as Bill let out a slight laugh. “Yeah, I f-figured.”

“You figured?”

“Yeah! You know, cuz h-he’s…”

“I’m what, Billiam? I’m dying to know.”

“He’s Richie.”

“Wow, no shit.”

“Y-You know what I mean.”

“Does he?”

“Yeah, do I?!”

“What a-are you even trying t-to do here, Ruh… Rich?”

“That’s what I’d like to know too, bud.”

A confused pause. “What—?”

The doors to the cafeteria burst open as a group of three teenagers crash into the room, bringing the chatter and music to an abrupt halt. The one in the middle breathes heavily before lifting their gloved hands to their mouths as a megaphone. 

“THE FIREWORKS ARE DUE IN THREE MINUTES!!!”

All at once, the air stilled. It lasts a second, maybe two, for the sentence to echo across the room, bouncing from wall to wall, reaching the ears of the hundreds of people inside it. More silence. Then a voice from the back of the cafeteria shouts out a “HOLY SHIT” and all hell breaks loose.

Screams of excitement, joy and adrenaline filled the building as everyone runs over to the doors, scrambling over each other to get outside and witness the spectacle due on the starry night sky. One might call it a stampede. Eddie sure would’ve called it that way if he had been watching it go down. Instead, he was being dragged out of the building by a steel-grip around his right wrist. If Richie ends up dislocating his shoulder, he’d never hear the end of it from his mother. _‘Eddiebear!’_ this and _‘Eddiebear!’_ that. He’d very much prefer the injured shoulder to the wailing. Best not give into that option either. 

Richie was never enlightened with this information, though, so he pressed on, sprinting his way through the dark hallways, leading the pack; Eddie in one hand, Bill on the other.

“E-EASY ON THE HO… HOR… H— _FUCKING_ HORSE POWER, RICHIE!!!” Bill shouts, rushing to keep up with the basketball athlete. “HIT THE FUCKING B-BRAKES!!!”

Lo and behold, turns out Richie is That Bitch and decided to ignore his complaints, making haste in kicking the school’s front doors wide open and pulling the two rag dolls out into the cold of the night; The rest of the party attendees were very close behind, lifting their heads skyward the second they left the building. 

Very briefly, in a rare moment of clarity, Richie lets himself assess the situation and reflect on a singular detail: was he being too hands-on with this nice guy he met just half an hour ago? He turns his head to look and find out for himself.

Eddie Kaspbrak is glaring daggers into his eyes so hard, he feels his own eyes water under the heat. He turns his back on him again and shivers. Yup. Okay. Maybe he should tone down the explosive behavior a tad bit. Not that Richie Tozier had any problems meeting new people of course,(or forming any type of bond with them whatsoever), but he just found out that this boy is Bill’s friend. And any friend of Bill’s is a friend of Richie’s. He didn’t want Eddie to be the exception.

Richie lets go of his wrist before settling on the top step on the staircase; he lets go of Bill’s when he sits on the step below him. “Oi, chop chop and tally ho, my good fellow!” Richie calls out to Eddie using the best British Voice he can muster. “Pick the pace up! Come on!”

The boy merely gives Bill another skeptical look before complying and sitting to Richie’s right. The rest of the people there settled into what remained of the staircase, the front lawn and even stayed inside the building to watch through the windows. Kids laughed and shushed each other, pushing and pulling as they sat on the snow, trying to get a perfect view. “Where are the fireworks?!” They’d ask each other. “In a minute.” The parents replied with a smile on their faces. The air crackled with electricity, everyone’s excitement evident on their faces. They couldn’t wait.

“W-What were your resolutions for this n-n-new year, guys?” Bill asks wistfully, turning his head to look at Richie and Eddie. His blue eyes were blown wide, childlike joy swimming within its ocean, and brown hair swept to the side by the breeze. Truly, adorning the Derry winter fashion. “Any plans?”

“Well,” Richie clicks his tongue, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I always wanted to master putting my yo-yo to sleep. That’s a lil trick I’ve been meaning to get back to for a while.”

Eddie’s eyebrows skyrocket. “That’s… a relatively normal, non-freakish, and acceptable resolution.”

“I also wanna break my record of how many minutes I can last inside Eddie’s mother.”

And the statement was quickly retracted. “What—” Eddie can only gape. “What is your _deal?!_ Do you just like being relatively unlikable and weird?!”

“Oh come on. I just wanna make sure I take care of the love of my life the way she deserves! What my dick can’t handle, I leave to my talented mouth. She won’t know the difference.”

“I can’t believe this. I’m speechless.”

“Your mom definitely wasn’t when I was going down on her last night.”

“I am _this_ close to shoving my foot down your throat.”

“Ooh, I never took you for the kinky type, Eds! I’m into it.”

“One more word and I’m snapping your neck.”

“Okay, was never a fan of rough play, but that can be arranged. I mean, your mom was definitely down for it. _Ooh, Richie~ Ooh—._ ”

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT—!”

_“Beep beep,_ y-you freaking _idiot.”_ Bill cuts in on the chaos, painfully aware of how close Eddie was of exploding in embarrassment and anger. He could see his fists shaking and stone glare unwavering. He only ever saw Eddie like this on very few occasions; they all included his mother and first impressions.“Tuh-Tone it down.”

Richie turns to Bill and opens his mouth to make another comment, but oddly pauses once he gets a look on his face. He’s good at reading people and their expressions. (Whether he chooses to act accordingly is another matter in itself). Right now, Bill’s face screamed _‘STOP! LOOK AT THE DAMAGE!’_ So Richie obeys and looks at Eddie again. 

There’s a difference from their banter right now and their banter from inside the cafeteria. He doesn’t know what it is yet, but there is. Maybe he took it too far? Let go of the brakes too early? He did just meet the guy… Yeah, he does tend to do that a lot. Hm. Maybe he judged Eddie wrong. Maybe Eddie couldn’t take it. Maybe… well it was best he reeled it in again. For the best.

“Whoops,” Richie scratched at the back of his head and tried for a sheepish smile. “Got a bit ahead of myself didn’t I?”

Eddie stares in silence, letting the chatter of the people around them answer for him. Yup. Messed up big time, Tozier.

Then he looks over at Bill, stares some more, and gives out with a sigh. “No… No, I just— you overwhelmed me, is all. You’re just fucking around.” 

”What I do best.”

A scoff. “Yeah, I figured.” Eddie shifts his feet in the snow, then adds, “sorry for taking it seriously.”

A record scratched in Richie’s head. “Whoa, Whoa, Whoa! Hey! No, you said it yourself, I was fucking around talking weirdly about your mom, I’m the one sorry here. Not you. You’re just looking out for her. Don’t apologize, dude.” He said. “Please.”

This time, the skeptical look came from Bill. Richie ignored it. 

“Still, I knew it was a joke and got worked up about it either way. So it is kinda, partially, my fault.”

“So is mine.”

“Can we just agree it was both of our faults?”

“That I can do, Eds.”

“Don’t call me Eds.” He offered his hand. “Mutual guilt?”

Richie took it. “Mutual guilt.”

“Wow. If that w-wasn’t the weirdest e-exchange I-I-I h-have ever seen—”

“What, you want us to kiss and make up too, Denbrough?” 

“Let’s not.”

“Not hot enough for you, Spaghetti? You wound me.”

“Eddie. And no— it’s just gross and acts as a certified way of transmitting various germs and diseases via oral activity, so I’d rather not.”

_“Oral activity?”_

“Don’t push it, Tozier.”

“Heh, Heh. Got it.”

As if the end of a conversation acted as trigger, the crowd started acting up. Laughs got a little louder, cheers a little happier. And in a state of peak electric activity, they heard the patiently awaited words: the countdown.

“TEN!”

“NINE!”

“EIGHT!”

Bill scooted backwards enough so he sat against Richie’s legs and loudly joined on the counting; the other two closely followed.

“SEVEN!”

“SIX!”

“FIVE!”

Time slows. Eddie lets himself watch the profile of his best friend and the sudden person who has made an abrupt appearance in his life: Richie Tozier. A mystery. An obnoxious, annoying teenager, yes, but also hilariously great company. He wondered if there were more people here in Derry just like him. Would he get to meet others of the same charisma? Same persona? Or had he stumbled upon a rarity— actually, rather, the rarity had kicked down the door into his life, settled into the living room and declared they were having kielbasa for dinner. It was crazy. Richie Tozier was a sudden whirlwind he never saw coming when his mother planned moved here from Queens. Unexpected. Unpredictable. He hoped he’d get to live more of it.

“FOUR!”

“THREE!”

He might just. Were they friends now? He hoped they were. 

“TWO!”

He’d like it if they were.

“ONE!”

_**“EDDIE!!!”** _

_“HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!”_

Screams, cheers, shouts, jumping, skipping, dancing, crying— the colors bursting to life on the black canvas above them created a spectacle for every eye to settle on. The whistles of the fireworks and their following booms filled the town, announcing the new year. It was now January 1st, 1993. The start of Eddie’s first year in Derry, Maine.

And yet all of it drowned away in the background as his limbs grew numb, his lip quivered and his heart froze still. No. No. Please no.

“EDDIE, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” Sonia Fucking Kaspbrak was dressed to the brim with layers upon layers of cotton that Eddie knows for a fact were thrown on hastily and in a rush; cheeks beet red and ears fuming, she waddled her way over. She looked furious. “WHAT ON HELL, HEAVEN AND EARTH ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

Luckily, thanks to the cheers and the fireworks, no one else noticed the squealing woman at the foot of the school’s front steps. The only ones who noticed were Eddie and, a bit later, Bill.

“Oh shit.” He stumbled. “Mrs. K—!”

“HUSH, YOU LITTLE BROKEN RECORD! I’M TALKING TO MY RUNAWAY SON!”

“Mom—!”

“DON’T YOU ‘MOM’ ME, YOUNG MAN! GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT, OR SO HELP ME GOD!”

He didn’t move, though he gripped the slippery stones under him harder. “Mom, I can explain—!”

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT! HERE, EDWARD, _NOW!”_

His breathing only got worse and Eddie’s sure he’s shaking like a wet cat now. He’s in so much trouble, what the hell was he _thinking_ when he snuck out?! Was he nuts?! This was his _mother!_ He was as good as dead! How’d she even find him?!

His watch beeps. Then he knows. “Fuck.” He closes his eyes in a grimace, remembering that his mother got him on some new pills. Pills that he had to take every six hours, and his mother was very punctual. So, obviously she’d be put off if she went up to his room to give him his hourly dose and find out he’s not there. Shit. Fucking shit.

“Mom,” Eddie tries again. “Please.” He doesn’t know what he’s begging for. Letting him stay in the party? Permitting him to stay out late? Forgiving him for sneaking out? He’s not sure, but the word rings out as the only thing Eddie can manage to say. How pitiful is that? Make his own decisions his ass. This was pathetic.

But he was scared. And his mother knew it.

A hand falls on his shoulder and makes him jump. He turns to lock eyes with Richie’s blue ones, concern and wariness on his features. Surely asking what the _fuck_ was going on. Well, guess an answer is in order. 

Eddie clears his throat, makes sure to give Richie a grateful nod, and stands up. He nearly falters under the waves of his anxiety, but managed to gain some ground. He breathes in, letting the cold air numb his throat, and speaks up. “Coming, Ma…”

Step by step, he carefully avoids ice spots, kissing couples, running children and the watching eyes of William Denbrough and Richie Tozier. It’s hard, but he manages to steel himself stiff once he arrives at his mother’s side. She quickly darts her hand and chains it around his wrist in a stone hard grip, almost making him whimper. It didn’t. Without another word, his mom pulled her five scarves closer to herself, glared at the two boys from behind her glasses, and waddled away, out of school grounds, dragging Eddie along.

Richie and Bill watched in stunned silence; the former bolting up from his seat but not making any moves to follow. They saw both their figures retreat further and further away, crossing the rotting front gates and into the street. 

“Uh, Billy?” Richie swallowed thickly. “What just happened?”

The other boy sighed deeply, but didn’t answer; only shook his head.

Under the continuous bursts of reds, greens, yellows, blues and purples, Richie spotted Eddie’s frame in the distance. Even if they were pretty far now, he could still make out a few features of his face as it turned to stare right at him. They locked eyes; time stilled again. Even if no words were exchanged, the message was clear.

_‘Goodbye.’_

He didn’t even get the guy’s number. 

“Richie?” Bill says.

Richie wordlessly sits back down and takes out another cigarette from his pack; the lighter appears in his other hand. Without replying, he lights it and takes a slow, long drag, letting the cheers and words of the people around him fade into white noise. His gaze was still fixed onto the horizon where Eddie Kaspbrak had disappeared, along with his color-changing hair, his eyes filled with ice, laughter warm, and wit sharp. Came and left like an afternoon breeze, leaving no trace behind but the feeling of brief company in the lives of those who witnessed it, that Eddie did. 

“Will he be okay?” He ends up asking. Bill smiles grimly.

“H-He always is.”

“Hm.”

A pause. “Strawberry sh-shortcake?”

“You’re the best.”

And so, Bill stands up and starts making his way back into the building. Instead he pauses and turns back. “Hey, Rich?”

Richie hums and looks at him.

“Happy N-New Year.”

He smiles. “You too, B-B-Bill.”

The other flipped him off and, Richie’s laugh resonating behind him, continued climbing up the rest of the steps and disappeared inside the abandoned school. Richie was alone again.

So, now that people were calming down, he focused on his breathing, on his cigarette, and dove into his thoughts one last time. It was a pretty wild night when he thought it over. Slipping away from his parents to get to the party, saving some random guy from the freaking Bowers gang, singing karaoke in front of a crowd, possibly _befriending_ said guy in a matter of thirty minutes, and finally watching him slowly break the image Richie had of him in his head as he walked over to his mother and got dragged away. Pretty eventful night, indeed. He wasn’t kidding, though. He _did_ hope Eddie was alright. Because that guy who spoke to his mother? The guy who trembled so hard, he might as well haven’t been wearing any layers at all. Where was the wit? The determined glare? The cursing? The smartass quips? The bright smiles? The smooth singing voice? The guy who went along with Richie’s vulgar jokes and terrible Voices, even though Richie was someone he had just met? Where was _he?_ Because that guy who went back to his mother was _not_ him. He truly hoped he was alright. Eddie Kaspbrak was an okay guy. And speaking as someone who surprisingly wasn’t one who commonly sought out new friendships, Richie would love to see more of him.

Eddie was unexpected. Unpredictable. Different. Captivating. He was something else.

Hands brushed the snow on his pants as he stood. (People were starting to either retreat back into the school or leave the premises.) He took one more drag and dropped the cigarette into the snow, letting it fizzle out. Hands in his green pockets, Richie mused a soft “Happy New Year, Eds.” And went off to find Bill and claim his rightful slice of strawberry shortcake.

———

_“No, no, no, this won’t do…” Fate grumbled, watching the events unfold. “I did not work way too hard for way too long just so that— that woman would keep them apart! They’ve just met!”_

_“Come now, sweet.” Crowed Coincidence, checking her nails. “Give it a bit more time. I’ve done my work too, you know.”_

_“Yes, yes, your so called ‘work’ that only involved in making sure David Barrison held a census of how many children resided in the town in total back in the early 18th century— what is your point?! It has had no effect whatsoever! You have done nothing!”_

_“Oh, haven’t I?”_

_“No!”_

_“I’m afraid you’re mistaken.”_

_“Elaborate, then.”_

_Coincidence’s eyes flickered upwards briefly, sizing up Fate’s frame before drifting down to her nails again. One of them was chipped. “Think back, dear Fate, you hardworking force, and tell me how many children were registered to reside in Derry, Maine yearly.”_

_He didn’t have to think much. “Around 350.”_

_“That’s right. And has that number changed?”_

_“Thanks to me and my efforts? Not at all. A beautiful, static amount of solid 350. Got the town to win an award for most stabilized number of enrolled students. Meant to be, really.”_

_“Right. Now think of our little champions, the shortest one. He’s just moved in, hasn't he?”_

_“Again, thanks to me interfering and making sure that dastardly woman notice her youngster’s face flushing and thinking her surroundings to be too sickly for him. If I never made her think of the boy as such, she never would have moved. Your point?”_

_“Is the youngster still in his school years, darling Fate?”_

_Fate narrowed his eyes at Coincidence, not sure where she was going with this. “Yes, of course. He will be admitted into a new school.”_

_Coincidence smiled. “Remind me how many students are admitted in the town yearly.”_

_“I told you already, about—“ His eyes widened, a realization coming into play; he swallowed, “Just enough for a singular class, my lady.”_

_With a final glance at her nails, Coincidence moved away from her comfortable position in the Macroverse and went to stand next to Fate. She watched both youngsters retire for the night, knowing their story was just beginning._

_“What were the chances there was only one working high school in the entire town, hm?”_

_Fate regarded her in awe. “Beautiful work, Coincidence. Never saw it coming.”_

_“Please, dear Fate.” She looked back up at him and smiled once more, lips filled to the brim with delightful surprises and joys to come. “It was simply meant to be.”_


	2. Get Your Head in the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The door at the back opens and closes and another student quietly shuffles into the room, a few murmurs of “Excuse me” and “Sorry” escaping them. Nobody turns to look. Nobody cares.
> 
> Nobody but Mrs. Darbus.
> 
> “Oh!” She interrupts her speech by raising both arms in the air, as if caught by surprise. (She was.) “Well, now. Newest transfer, I presume?”
> 
> A nervous voice piped up from the very back and Richie’s hair was suddenly standing on end. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s me.”
> 
> Richie frowns. Now, why’d that voice sound familiar all of a sudden?
> 
> “Wonderful! Now, would you take a seat, mister…?”
> 
> “Kaspbrak.” The voice says and Richie immediately jerks around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s chapter 2!! I want to thank you guys for your patience! I worked really really hard to get this out and I am SO glad it’s done. Enjoy! I’d love to hear what you think afterwards.
> 
> TW: Mild Panic Attack! 
> 
> Please tread on carefully! Discretion is advised. 
> 
> —Lily

_“What,” Eddie chokes, lowering the butter knife until it clacks against the glass plate on the table. He doesn’t think he’s hungry for some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches anymore. “Mom, what are you saying?”_

_He watches her shuffle her slippers towards the kitchen counters and open them, revealing rows upon rows of medicine bottles, pills, disinfectant sprays and a million other anti-dying chemicals that he’s pretty sure aren’t doctor-approved. She lets them bear witness to their argument as she goes to grab a fistful of pills to her left and shoves them into a black duffel bag. She doesn’t turn to face him when she finally replies. “It is what it is, Eddie. What’s so difficult for you to understand?”_

_His mouth gapes, mind racing to catch up to his present predicament. It proves to be no easy task. “Um, everything?! Ma, what do you mean we’re moving?!” She finishes pouring the remaining items into the bag and zips it shut. “Ma!”_

_With a grave sigh, his mother turns to him, stare grave as if_ he _were the one being difficult right now. As if_ he _were the one who stormed into the room, announcing they were leaving the place where they’ve literally lived their entire lives, leaving their friends, saying goodbyes to their favorite spots in town and familiar corners of their home, just because. As if_ he _were the one causing his whole life to crumble as he stands witness on the sidelines. “Listen, Eddie, sometimes, some choices need to be made for the greater good. Whether you understand the big picture or not is not of importance to me. We’re leaving. Now, for the last time, go to your room and pack up! I want to be out the door by seven. I won’t ask you again.”_

_“Mom!”_

_“NOW, EDDIE!”_

_Seething, Eddie turns and stomps down the hall on his way to his room; once there, he slams the door and doesn’t leave for the rest of the day._

_There’s no way anything good can come out of this, he growls. Not a damn thing._

~*~

“Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad! See ya at four!” Richie jumped down the remaining steps on the staircase and rounded his way towards the front door. 

His mom popped her head out of the kitchen, “Hold it, young man!” Richie‘s black boots screech into a halt and, with his hand on the doorknob, he pauses. “What about breakfast? I made French toast!”

“Not hungry, thanks!” He shot her a toothy grin and yanked the door open, bolting outside, down the front steps, and into the melting snow. There’s more rustling from behind before he hears: “Richie!” And turns again, exasperated. “Yeah?” He says.

His mom stood in the doorway, pink bathrobe tied tightly around her scrawny frame, red hair in curlers, freezing toes in her Easter Bunny slippers, and a plate of French toast in one hand; a red scarf on the other. She smiled sheepishly, “Please, hun?”

With a sigh and a playful roll of his eyes, Richie sluggishly walks back towards her and lets her wrap up the scarf around his neck (three times, wound tight like his grandma used to do too) as well as push his breakfast into his hands. _“Eat.”_ She scolded. Then she adds, “I love you.”

The boy quickly looks around (ignoring his mother’s own eye roll), kisses her on the cheek, thanks her for the food and retreats from the door to his bicycle, already set out outside his garage. Making sure the chains hadn’t frozen over, he climbed onto it and sped off into the street; soaked toast between teeth, he waved at his mother’s retreating figure one last time. Onwards to face Hell on Earth one more time.

It’s a crisp January morning, already two weeks into the month. Sun’s out, birds are chirping, and Richie is trying his best to bike on his way to school without tipping over from the weight of his backpack. At least it wasn’t a long ride, he reasoned for the millionth time. Only a few minutes, ten tops. 

Plate already thrown into the basket, Richie picked up speed once he turned a corner and saw the towering building in the distance. He huffs and briefly wonders if his education was really worth it. (It wasn’t, but he figures his parents would beg to differ).

Once there, he skids his bike to the left, avoiding a crew of five girls huddled together, two boys laughing out loud, another three girls with their skateboards (“watch it, Tozier! Just got a paint job!”), and finally got to the bike rack on the left side of the building. He jumped off, chained it in place (because Derry fucking sucks and he’d rather have his bike vandalized than stolen) and skipped off towards the stone steps of the school, already littered to the brim with freshly revamped high-schoolers for the end of the school year, ready to start shitting on everyone and everything one more time. 

Richie is careful not to meet the eyes of as many people as he can (“never look a predator in the eye,'' his dad used to say as he checked Richie’s mouth for cavities. “it’ll take it as a challenge.”). In Derry High, everyone everywhere is always mad about everything _all the time_ , so it’s best to just lay low, under the radar, and hope you make it out alive at the end of the day. There had been some close calls before. Richie shivers at the memories.

“RICHIE-RICHIE!!!”

The boy stops mid-step, and turns, the grin already splitting on his face. Of course, there’s always exceptions. Richie has friends.

“BABE!” He exclaims, throwing his hands in the air as he watches a red-head dismount the rundown school bus and dash her way over. A blur of yellow, green and red; How he missed those unruly locks of fiery wit. “MY LOVE, IT’S BEEN TOO LONG!”

Jumping up two steps at a time, Beverly Marsh crashes into his arms, gripping tight and not letting go. She squeals and grins and squeezes and laughs and, _God_ , Richie had missed her.

“Christ, Rich! Happy New Year!” She pulled back just barely, enough to look him in the eye. “Look at you! Have you grown taller?”

“A full quarter of an inch, darling.”

“Aren’t you a growing boy!”

“Only the best for _Miss Scawlett_.” He dragged the name out with a southern accent he picked up a few years back. Never failed to put a smile on her face. “So, what, giving a spotlight a run for its money? What’s with the getup?”

“Oh, shut up, you’re no better. Missed your battle with the Grandmaster, Strider Hiryu?” 

“Touché.”

“I thought so.” Beverly hugs him again, this time just embracing him. Richie hugs back with a content sigh, tucking his chin into her neck. This was nice. “Seriously though, I missed you so much.”

“I know, me too.” Richie says, patting her back gently, before breaking the hug and standing up straight again. “How was winter break with your aunt? Chill?”

“Ha ha, you’re a comedian,” Beverly rolls her eyes, no malice behind them. “Yeah, much better than what I thought it’d be. She was dead set on not mentioning dad at all, for my sake. Almost drove herself mad doing it, too. Went out for hot cocoa a lot, though. It was fun.”

Richie nods, an action that almost makes his glasses slip. He fixes them. “Yeah, how’s that going, huh?”

The lines around her smile strain a bit. “Oh, you know. There-there. He’s behind bars, so that’s what matters.”

“Right.” He lets the topic rest. “Going inside?”

“Freezing. Yes, please.”

Off they went, huddled together as they walked up the last remaining steps and pushed through the double doors of Derry High School. 

A lot of kids (A lot of noise). There were _a lot_ of kids ( _So much_ noise). Sure, each grade had maybe around 80 students in total, but having all ninth, tenth, eleventh and twelve graders under one roof was just a recipe for chaos and hormones no one should ever be subjected to. It made Richie wonder, not for the first time (and certainly not the last) if they were being punished for being born. Too many kids in one small town were bound to drive any adult nuts. Maybe they wanted to make each of them focus their cooties and voice cracks at each other, up until they finally murder each other. Richie rightfully thinks the real people at fault were the adults before him. It’s not _his_ fault the former generation couldn’t keep it in their pants long enough to not cause overpopulation. At least _he_ could keep a leash on his dick when he put his mind to it. Well, he likes to think he does. Most of the time.

“Here we go,” Beverly knocks at a locker to her left. Chipped silver paint dyed away under chicken scratches of awful slurs and evil words some people at school were kind enough to offer while in her absence. People could be real jerks sometimes. “Locker, sweet locker. You think it still works with the Vending Machine hack?” At Richie’s shrug, she hums and moves to stand in front of it. She breathes out slowly, marking one, two seconds, and then slams her right fist just under the lock. It swings open. “Yes!!! Still got it!”

“You know, Bev,” Richie starts, leaning against the locker next to hers, watching her work about her notebooks, textbooks and other small items into the small space. He takes the opportunity to shove in his own winter cap and gloves between her Physics textbook and Calculus worksheets too. “Maybe it’s time you got yourself a new lock. You never know when the VM hack will fail you.”

Beverly finishes taking out the unnecessary books, zips up her yellow bag and gives him an offended look. “The VM hack has _never_ failed me, Tozier. You just lack faith.”

“Just sayin’.”

Beverly scoffs, slamming the locker shut. She mutters something eerily similar to “Non-believers…” and walks off; Richie follows. 

They don’t walk far. Down the main hallway, bustling about with the smell of grumpy teenagers and stale weed, they pass not one, two, but _three_ classrooms until the unmistakable waft of incense and grandma perfume hits them head on and they reach their destination: Home room. They walk inside.

Mrs. Darbus is, as far as a Derry High student can tell, one of the sanest people in the entire town. Sure, she has this overly attached affection towards the dramatic arts and talks like they’re still living in the 17th century, auditioning to perform in Shakespeare’s _Hamlet_ , but overall, she’s still hanging on. Even after _17 years_ teaching in this hellhole, she hangs on.

Richie often wonders when her thread will finally snap.

“Alright, alright! Settle down, everyone!” Mrs. Darbus voices, waving for everyone to take their seats. Richie moves and sits at the very front; Beverly right behind him. “Winter break is over. Class is now in session, and so I expect you all to be on your best behavior today. There is a lot planned for this junior year!”

Sure, Richie jokingly thinks. When has _that_ ever been a thing?

The bell rings and school officially begins. Mrs. Darbus starts a speech about how the class is “so close yet so far” until graduation, and how it was time _some_ of them (“Those of you who know, _know_.” She gives Nick Garrison and Matt Holett the stink eye.) shaped themselves up and started taking things seriously. This was their future after all. What use is a future if you fuck it all up? Not much, that’s for sure.

The door at the back opens and closes and another student quietly shuffles into the room, a few murmurs of “Excuse me” and “Sorry” escaping them. Nobody turns to look. Nobody cares.

Nobody but Mrs. Darbus.

“Oh!” She interrupts her speech by raising both arms in the air, as if caught by surprise. (She was.) “Well, now. Newest transfer, I presume?”

A nervous voice piped up from the very back and Richie’s hair was suddenly standing on end. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s me.”

“I spoke to your mother recently. Charming woman.”

“R-Right.”

Richie frowns. Now, why’d that voice sound familiar all of a sudden?

“I take it you found your way around without trouble, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Wonderful! Now, would you take a seat, mister…?”

“Kaspbrak.” The voice says and Richie immediately jerks around. (Beverly jumps back in surprise. She grumpily punches him on the shoulder.) He catches a glimpse of an annoyed guy glaring at him, a girl loudly chewing and popping gum (and threading it between her fingers, _gross_ ), a head snuggled between crossed arms, snoring, and finally, a teal, rolled-up sleeve and a tan arm way in the back corner of the room. There’s too many heads in the way to make out a full image.

“Very well, Mr. Kaspbrak. I am your new homeroom and drama teacher, Mrs. Darbus! Welcome to Derry High.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Darbus.”

And just like that, she returns to her normal, back to school speech. As if Richie’s day hadn’t just been thrown off its feet. Rude of her, really.

“Touz, you okay?” Beverly taps his arm gently to gain his attention. It briefly works. “You seem put off.”

Richie waves her off, already reaching into his backpack for some paper and a pencil. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just— just gimmie a sec.” He turns back around, finishes bringing out his desired materials onto his desk and proceeds to scribble on the paper. Messily, but doing its job. He stops, folds the note in two, three, four squares and hands it over to Beverly. “Pass it on. New guy.”

Beverly just looks at him like he’s crazy. Honestly, with the way his heart seems to want to escape his chest and his armpits are accumulating gallons of sweat down there, he doesn’t blame her. “What?”

“Just do it!” He shoves the note in her hands. 

She stares at him oddly for another second before shrugging and turning to the person behind her. “Pass it on. New kid.”

Betty Ripsom wordlessly takes the note and extends it towards the student on her right: Audra Phillips. “Pass it on. Last seat.”

Audra doesn’t even look at them as she grabs it and discreetly offers the note behind her. “Pass it back. Last seat.”

And it keeps going. Just like that, a small succession of passing the note onto the back of the room, all without the teacher’s knowing. Sadly, it’s another five seats and it reaches an unmovable wall. Richie curses under his breath.

“Pass it back.” Travis Gollen boredly extends his arm behind him and hands the note to the last person sitting between Richie Tozier and his destination: Myra Driscoll. The rotten apple.

“What’s this? A note?” She asks Travis. The guy only shrugs. Myra scoffs, “W-What— and you think _I’m_ one to partake in something so _low_ and _criminal_ as passing notes?!”

No, Richie thinks grimly. But framing people for murder sounds more her style.

Blonde curls stiffened with hairspray fly from her shoulders as Myra jerks a hand over her head; everyone’s attention lands on her and Richie wants to kill her dead. “Mrs. Daaaarbus! Travis has been passing me notes!”

Travis turns in his seat so fast, he startles Myra and makes her jump. She clutches a hand to her chest as he bellows how she was “SUCH A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING TATTLETALE” and she shoots back her “WOULDN'T HAVE TO TATTLE IF YOU WERE SO AWFUL AT BEING DISCREET, DUMBASS”. 

“OH YOU BLOODY BITCH, YOU WOULDN’T KNOW DISCREET IF IT HIT YA RIGHT ON YOUR BULLSHIT UNICORN VOMIT FACE WITH BRIGHT LIGHTS AND A FUCKIN HUGE SIGN THAT SAYS ‘DISCREET’ ON IT WRITTEN WITH A FUCKING HIGHLIGHTER!”

“AT LEAST I CAN SPELL DISCREET, MR. _‘SHAKES PIER’!”_

“FUCK YOU, I WAS TWELVE!”

“AND YET ACT LIKE A TWO YEAR OLD ON MEDS! NOTHING’S CHANGED!”

The commotion continues, along with Mrs. Darbus’s alarmed interjections chiming in. Nobody notices the note fluttering from Myra’s hand to the floor. 

But only for, like, half a second because as soon as the note meets the ground, a hand slowly, carefully dives down and sweeps it into its delicate grasp. Richie follows its movements upwards until he lands on the one he was hoping for. Now, with most people out of the way, he can clearly see the full view of Eddie “Nice Guy from the New Years Party” Kaspbrak, having discarded the many layers of cold weather for a teal sweater over a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, neat jeans and brown shoes. He looked so much different in the daytime. Richie didn’t know if that was a good discovery or a damning one.

He watches as Eddie looks at the note curiously before flickering his eyes around the room to make sure he was in the clear (“Cute.” the voice inside Richie’s head returned. He gave it a hard shove.). When it seemed he deemed it safe, he opened it and read its contents. After a second, Richie sees his eyebrows shoot upwards and then slowly, but surely, knitting together in growing confusion. The boy lifts his head and scans every face in the room again, this time, the search for something specific coming across as obvious. Richie finds himself trying to wordlessly gain his attention. _Come on, come on, over here—!_

“Well now!” Mrs. Darbus suddenly pops up next to Eddie’s desk, startling him into a yelp. 

_Shit._

“I expected many things from you as a new student here at Derry High, Mr. Kaspbrak, but—“ She swipes the note from his hands and narrows her eyes at him. “ _Passing notes in my classroom_ was certainly not one of them. Not a good start on your part at all.”

“No, wait, I wasn’t—!” Eddie scrambles to explain but is quickly shut down with a wave of the teacher’s hand.

“I won’t hear of it. Detention for you, Mr. Kaspbrak. The drama club’s lighting department might need your assistance over at the auditorium during the free period. Do show up.” Mrs. Darbus shoves the note into one of her many, many colorful pockets, and turns to walk back to the front of the class. Eddie is left gaping at her back in shock as a few other students snicker under their breath. Richie feels like shit.

“Oops,” He murmurs and Beverly gives him an unamused look. 

At the back of the room, Eddie bashfully tucks his hands between his legs and flushes in embarrassment. Damn it.

In a flurry of rapid thinking, Richie thrusts his hand forwards and pushes his notebook, pencil and loose pieces of paper crashing onto the ground. Everyone snaps their head his way. Beverly makes a confused noise deep in her throat which Richie is sure is the equivalent of: “What in the everloving fuck was that?!”

“Mr. Tozier! Eager to make a mess of my classroom early on, aren’t we?” Mrs. Darbus crosses her arms in distaste. 

“Can’t be caught slipping, Mrs. D.” Richie forces out a relaxed grin, crossing his arms over his desk. “Wouldn’t want anyone to assume otherwise. I got a reputation to maintain, y’know.”

“Oh yes. I know very well. What with the _‘play balls!’_ and the _‘touchdown!’s_ and such.” Mrs. Darbus says, clearly done with his bullshit. “But just as you have an image to uphold, I do as well.” She hardens her glare; Richie already knows his day has gone to shit. “Detention, Mr. Tozier. I expect you to show up and help out during the free period. _Wouldn’t want to be caught slipping.”_

And just like that, she turns back towards the class, finishing her welcoming back speech, ignoring the low giggles and distant “What a loser.” piping up from a far-off corner of the room. That’s okay. None of that is important to him at the moment. 

Richie turns to look towards the back of the class—

—and a wide-eyed Eddie is staring right back. 

The bell rings. 

Richie almost forgets he has to get up before he manages to break eye contact and dives for his fallen school supplies. He picks up the pencil, his papers (some asshole decided to walk all over one, nearly stomping over Richie’s hand. He believes _that_ was his real target) and shoves them all in his bag. Zipping it up, he shoulders it and flees the room. 

Admittedly, he doesn’t get far. Just a few steps in the hall, passing a row of lockers, until he’s whirled around by a hand on his shoulder. Beverly is glaring at him.

“Richie!” Her arms darted in a frenzy. “What the fuck was that?!”

“What?” He says unhelpfully. He knows he’s acting weird. He also knows there’s no way to explain it to Bev without having a twelve hour discussion here in the school hall. Richie would rather not. “What are you talking about?”

Beverly exhales exasperated, “You’re kidding.”

“Am I?”

“Richie, what was up with all that note passing? And the shoving-your-shit-to-the-ground thing? You got detention! We have basketball practice during the free period, what’s wrong with you?” 

“Nothing’s wrong with me.” Richie lies. “Just… felt like starting early, is all.”

“Uh huh, _starting early_ , my ass. Coach’ll have your rear! And what about that whole new kid nonsense?” Beverly expertly side-steps away from a stampeding herd of ninth graders. “This isn’t like you, Richie. What happened?”

“Look, Bev. Bevvy-Bevvy. Red. Babe. Love of my life.—“

She grunts.

“— you just gotta trust me on this, okay? I just decided to burst and fuck around early in the year to get a head start, settle into normalcy, y’know— my thing.” He grips his bag’s straps and ducks to avoid a flying apple aimed at his head. “Just… trying something new.”

“Something… new?”

“Yeah.” God, he sucks at this.

“And that something was passing a note in class to the new kid and afterwards getting yourself detention for no reason at all. That’s the new thing?”

“New year, new me, ain’t that what the kids say these days?”

“Oh my god, Richie.” Pale fingers pinch at the bridge of her nose. It scrunches up in annoyance and Richie knows he’s bullshiting his way out of this one, but there’s really no way to explain this all to Beverly right now. Not right now.

“Just trust me.” He says after a while. “I’ll explain better later. Beginning to end, no bulllshit included.”

She raises an eyebrow. A tenth-grader shoves his shoulder against her bag. Beverly flips him off. “You sure?”

“Yeah, promise.”

There’s a pause. “Lunch, then.” She decides, adjusting the sleeves of her sweater and shaking her curly bangs out of her eyes. “Hideout?”

Richie smiles. “Always.”

“Awesome.” And with that positive note, Beverly Marsh leaves for class. 

Richie follows her with his gaze, keeping an eye on her short, red hair, green sweater and yellow backpack as she disappears into a classroom to the far end. He exhales.

And then there’s a tap on his shoulder.

“FUCK!” Richie whirls around, heart on his throat and hand to his chest. 

And then he freezes altogether, because he realizes he’s face-to-face with the man himself. What luck.

“Hi.” The boy Richie knows to be Eddie smiles.

“I— wh—uh— I—“ Breathe, Richie, _breathe_ , “—hey.” He says back, and part of him wants the ground to swallow him whole. 

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” The smaller boy nods. “Robbie, right?”

“No, uh—” Somebody shoot him. Somebody shoot him _right now._ “—Richie, actually.”

“Right, right!” He watches him shrink into himself with an embarrassed blush. He clears his throat, “Richie, right. Richie from the party. I, uh… I’m—“

“Eddie,” Richie interrupts, and after Eddie’s startled expression, he adds, “I think. I mean, is it Eddie?”

“Yeah, it’s Eddie. Uh, Kaspbrak.”

“Right, Eddie. Eddie from the party.”

“Right.”

A silence. He wonders if slamming his head against a locker was as blissful as it sounded.

“I got your note.” Richie blinks back into the conversation as he sees Eddie clear his throat again and scratch at the back of his neck. He hesitates before speaking: 

_“‘Long way from home, aren’t you, Spaghetti?’_ That was you, right?” Eddie asks. 

“Well,” Richie hides his hands into his own jacket pockets. He’s suddenly aware he forgot to take off his scarf and put it away in his (Beverly’s) locker. He must look all kinds of ridiculous right now. Fuck. “Anyone else call you Spaghetti, Eds?”

A familiar frown crosses Eddie’s face and suddenly, Richie can’t remember what he was worrying about. “Okay, haha, not funny. I told you not to call me Eds, remember?”

An easy smile starts to appear on Richie’s lips and he tilts his head in mockery. “Riiight! That was a thing you had going on, huh? Allergic to nicknames, alright, I can respect that.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I’m not allergic to nicknames, dipshit.”

“Then what's with the name ban, Mr. President?”

“Hilarious. I just don’t like people calling me that, okay?”

“Not even someone as handsome and good-looking as _moi_?” Richie places both hands on his cheeks. “Surely that must count for something.”

“Sure, lowering my opinion of you is right up there in the top 3.” Eddie deadpans and Richie laughs. 

“Okay, okay, got it…. Anyways, to clear it up, yeah, I’m the one who wrote the note. Welcome to Derry High, Eddie.” Richie turns and spreads his arms towards the slowly-emptying hallway in a presenting manner. He ignores the odd looks sent his way. “Or as I like to call it: Hell’s ground level.”

Eddie snickers. “Thanks.” He says. “Glad to be here.”

Richie lowers his arms and fixes his glasses atop his nose. “I can tell. Still though, I can't help but wonder… didn’t your mom, like, drag you away back to New York? Weeping kid at the candy aisle style?”

Something cold flashes briefly in Eddie’s eyes and Richie can only guess he’s remembering that New Years night. He knows it must’ve been a hard blow for that kind of thing to happen to you in front of strangers. That woman had no chill whatsoever. He can still feel the icy glare of Eddie’s mom’s stare from behind her glasses. The way she was completely repulsed by Bill, how she called him a “broken record”, and decidedly ignored anything he had to say in Eddie’s favor. Richie, as expected, disliked her immediately.

“No, yeah.” Eddie scratches the back of his neck. “We, uh… We moved here. Full-on moving. Like, we live here now, kind of… moving.”

“Hm, gotcha.” 

And it stays like that for a while. Eddie nods and looks around; there weren't that many people around anymore. A fleeting student skipping class here or there, but that was it. 

“Walk to class, Eduardo?”

Eddie turns to Richie with a scrunch of his nose. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

They walk off. Their shoes thumping and squeaking against the polished tiles, arms tucked tightly to their sides and making small talk. Or as small as a conversation with Richie can be. (Not very small, Eddie would later be assured).

“So none of your friends know of your singing back at the party?” Eddie tilts his head and picks the pace up to keep up with Richie. (Damn his long legs.) They pass the biology classroom and make a right turn down another hallway. 

“I mean, no, not really, but give it, like, an hour. Shit spreads like wildfire here.”

“Really?”

A chuckle. “Kinda surprises me no one has jumped at the chance to lock me in a bathroom stall and force me to belt out a verse from _The Music Man_ while they dangle an overfilled trash can over my head yet.”

Distressed noises escape the smaller boy. “Why would _that_ happen?”

“Tozier fact _número uno_ , Eddie: If you wear glasses, have freakishly long limbs, a sad mop of hair, and the best fucking one-liners on the planet, you’re a certified loser.”

“Oh, well, thank god _you_ don’t check out.”

Richie nearly trips over his shoes as he stifles a laugh. “Fuck you, Kaspbrak, I’m hilarious.”

“Now, _that’s_ debatable since 90% of your working material back at the party happened to revolve around my mom.”

“Ah yes, a truly wondrous muse,” He dismisses the taste of bile in his mouth. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Speaking of, you wouldn’t mind keeping your bedside window open for me tonight, would ya, champ?”

“Don’t you start.” 

More laughter bursts from the two as they walk along. They don’t even try to keep an eye out for any teachers lurking about. Then Eddie realizes there’s actually _no one_ around and points it out.

“Wow, no hall monitor? That’s a surprise.”

Richie raises an eyebrow at him, walking a few feet away to round a circular pillar in his path. “No hall monitor? Of course there is! What do you take this fine institution for?” 

Another furrow of brows. “Well, where is he then?”

“Busy with hall monitoring stuff!”

“Other than… monitoring the halls?”

“Yeah!”

“Like what?”

“Snorting cocaine in the broom closet.”

“Ah.” Eddie says, and he tries not to snort. “Yeah, that’d do it.”

“That it’d do.” Richie agrees. “Steve’s had a rough winter break.”

“Poor Steve.”

“Yeah, poor Steve.” Both boys exchange soft laughter and let the topic comfortably hang in the air between them (“Not unlike a mistletoe,“ The voice says. It’s successfully ignored). Richie chances a glance at the watch on his left wrist. 8:17 am. They’re late. But he doesn’t care. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind either, and part of him is thrilled to know this.

A hung up bulletin board catches his eye and he momentarily pauses. He has an idea. It floats around in his head, debating whether to go forth with it or not. Finally, with a brief sweep around the perimeter, Richie makes his choice. He leads them across to it.

“What is this?” Eddie asks once in front of the pillar. The object of interest is a yellow piece of inked paper, its contents spread out across the parchment. It reads _‘Audition for the School Musical! Sign up here!’_ in bright, purple letters. Below it, various blank spaces are left to write your name under either the _Pairs Auditions_ category or the _Single Auditions_ one. Interesting. “What’s it say… Hamlet?”

Richie peers closer to read better. He hums, “Seems so.”

“But Hamlet’s not a musical.”

“Anything’s a musical if you’re obsessed with it enough.”

Eddie gives it some thought. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

“When am I ever?”

He gives him a knowing look.

“Okay, yeah, I got it. So, Hamlet; Thought you’d like to see it. The poster, I mean,” Richie pushes his glasses back and glances away. “Y’know, with all that Elton John shit you’ve been pulling back at New Years, figured this would be a pretty nice place to settle.”

“The _drama_ club?” Eddie asks, a bit too loudly. Richie quickly shushes him.

“God, yes, Eds, the drama club— I’m sure the fucking Barrens aren’t interested in your extracurricular activities, so keep it down!”

“It’s _Eddie_ ,” The boy rolls his eyes at the jab, but returns them to the sign-up sheet. He hums nervously. “I don’t know, Richie. I think I’d rather just get used to the school first before joining anything. And besides, I don’t think auditioning for a musical is really _it_ for me, so…”

“What are you talking about?” Richie faces him and leans against the pillar. “Look, I may not know you all that well, dude— like, at all— but you can _sing_.” Eddie’s face flushes a deep red and his shoulders tense. “So if it’s competition you’re twisted at the crotch about, don’t worry. Not that many other people sign up either. Mostly just the drama club members themselves.”

“Thanks,” Eddie squeaks. “But, I think I’ll pass—“

_“Excuse_ me! Out of the way, shortass!” A figure shoves past Eddie, practically throwing him on top of Richie. Hands scramble to upright themselves, gripping at his jacket and almost yanking off his scarf. Thankfully, they manage. The boys share some confused glances before turning to the girl, now occupied with scribbling something in wide, cursive letters under the pairs section. It read: _Myra Driscoll and Ben Hanscom._

Just what they needed.

“Ugh, Tozier—“ Myra turns around, a disgusted snarl on her face. “Skipping class? Figured as much, since basic education was never your forte.”

Richie huffs and crosses his arms. This shit _again_. “Put a sock in it, Myra. You’re out of class too.”

“Yeah, I am,” She raises a manicured hand, revealing a small, rectangular piece of white cardboard. “On a hall pass, unlike you losers. Bet you never even asked for one, huh? Not like a single teacher in this school would trust you to be running around on your own, but you already knew that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a sight for sore eyes and I pee on your breakfast every morning— care to move aside, Your Highness?”

She narrows her beady, little eyes at him. Instead of answering, she fixes them on Eddie. She smiles. “Hey there.” Myra says. 

Eddie fidgets in his spot. “Hi.” 

“Haven’t seen _you_ around here before. Transfer?”

_Yes, you idiot,_ Richie screams in his head. _He sits right behind you at homeroom! Not like you’d notice anyone other than yourself, obviously!_

“Yeah. Moved in two weeks ago.”

“Ohhh,” Myra drawls, now moving to fully face him and completely ignore Richie. She starts twirling a strand of her hair around her index finger. “Where’re you from, uh..?”

“Eddie.” 

“ _Eddie_ , where’re you from?”

“Queens.”

“Ohhh, a city boy?”

Eddie briefly glances up at Richie. “Uh… yeah, I guess so.”

Myra giggles and Richie can’t, for the life of him, figure out what’s so funny. 

“Say, where do you live, Eddie?”

Fuck, he shouldn’t answer. He tries to communicate this with a subtle, but very alarmed shake of his head when Eddie looks to him again for ways out.

“Uh…” Eddie moves his hands around vaguely, voicing his reply as he registers Richie’s reactions and mannerisms. “Around?” He offers.

Myra merely lets out another totally-not-forced laugh and actually, honest to _God_ , pushes at his shoulder playfully. Richie felt his morning toast rise and lodge in his throat. “Ohhh, Eddie, you’re such a _jokester!_ A man of mystery.” She takes a step close to him and winks. “Charming.”

_“Okay!”_ Richie cuts in. This was beginning to be way too much way too fast. Eddie was clearly uncomfortable and, damn it, why was Myra always so fucking difficult?! Why here?! Why now?! Why?! “ _Thank_ you, Myra! But in case you hadn’t noticed before, we were in the middle of something!”

She shoots him a glare, one he knows all too well. Then, to his surprise, she turns back around and grabs at the pen from earlier. She faces Eddie again with a smile. “Oh, Eddie, you were thinking of signing up?! I didn’t think you were a singing type of guy!”

“I’m not.” Eddie says, cheeks reddening again.

“Hmm, well, if you’re still new here, I _highly_ recommend you join the drama club! I’m the president, you see.” She claps her hands together and continues to lean closer and closer and— damn it, can't she just back off?

“I’m, uh,” Eddie was definitely having a hard time keeping up here. Too weird of an interaction to fully commute with his brain, most likely. (Myra has that kind of effect on people.) The short boy clears his throat. “I’m not thinking of joining anything yet. I wanna get used to the school first, know my way around, settle in, y’know.”

She laughs again and Richie _really_ wants to shut her up. Bad. By any means necessary. A punch to the throat would suffice. “ _Eddieee_ , that’s okay! I understand! And hey, here’s an idea—” Richie didn’t like the sound of that. “—As you start to maneuver the school,” That’s when she hooks her arm around Eddie’s and leans her chin on his shoulder. Eddie is red as fuck. “Why don’t you sit with us at lunchtime? I can introduce you to _everyone_ and then you’ll be all set! They’d _love you!_ ”

“Wait—!”

That’s it.

“Sorry, Myra.” Richie swiftly yanks Eddie away from her grasp. He hooks his arm around the boy’s shoulders and glares hard behind his glasses. A very clear message: Fuck off. “He was already sitting with us for lunch.”

“I— what?”

The blonde frowns, cherry-colored bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “Were you, now?” She crosses her arms. “Really, Eddie? _Them?_ You won’t get anywhere if you start _there_. That’s, like, the _worst_ idea you could think of.”

Okay. _Okay_. Richie grits his teeth, fighting to keep his anger in check. He knows who she’s referring to, and God damn him to Hell if he was going to let anyone make fun of his friends while he’s around. But he also needs to keep his cool; he can't get into any more trouble. The teachers hate him enough as it is.

“Actually.” Eddie straightens up. Richie notices the tension in his squared shoulders and prepares himself to hear what comes next. “I thought it was the _best_ idea.”

Myra’s eyebrows go up. “Oh?”

Eddie shrugs, and Richie can’t help but notice the twitch of a smile on his lips. “Gotta learn to talk to everyone here and know the place, right? Thanks for the offer, uh— _Myra_ , was it? But I think I’m qualified enough to make my own decisions. I can handle this myself.” 

(Basically, _please_ fuck right off.)

She doesn’t answer. The small hall pass in her hand _taps! taps! taps!_ against her elbow as she hums out a displeased noise. Then, wordlessly, her body pivots and, with swaying hips, she walks away. 

They don’t move until she’s rounded the corner and is out of sight.

“Shit…” Richie swipes the glasses off his face and drags a hand across it. He continues dragging it down then back up into his hair. He sighs. “So, that was unexpected. What’d ya think of Derry’s own Drama Queen?”

He looks at Eddie who shrugs. His hair is a bit more disheveled than how it was earlier and his face has gained some color on both his cheeks and the tips of his ears. _Fuck_ , were those _freckles?!_

Finally, Eddie huffs and glances up at him. Yup. Freckles. “Well,” He starts. “She’s… uh…”

“Yeah?” Richie shoves his hands into his coat’s pockets. 

“Well…”

“Come on, spit it out.”

Eddie contemplates his words. “She’s really rude.” He finally says.

A beat of silence. “... And?”

“That’s it.”

“Bullshit. You got more shit stewing under those pretty brown locks of yours. Lay ‘em down!”

Eddie’s face flushed as he nervously looked around, almost like expecting for someone to pop out and say “He’s got actual thoughts and opinions on the matter! The horror!” Eddie couldn’t fool Richie, though. He could clearly see his smile fighting its way to the surface.“Okay, okay, fine, yeah, it was pure dumpster fire.”

“And?” Richie pushes.

“And it’s put me in a spot I’ve never been in before?”

“What, ‘Eddie from the party’ having trouble landing a girl on her net?”

“Fuck you, not all of us have the charisma of a five year old and the grotesque humor of a Greek tragedy that somehow doubles as a girl magnet.”

He couldn’t help the snickers rising from inside him, so he hides behind his hand. Between his fingers, he watches Eddie’s face flush in a way he was familiar with. He might as well spew smoke from his ears too, but, wow— Yeah, he was pissing him off again. Okay, okay, control yourself. Reel it in. Eddie is still a new friend. Ease him in. How _dare_ he find his lack of appeal funny. (I mean, it is— it is _ridiculous_ —but, still, pretty stupid of him to nick his pride like that.) “Okay, Eddie, my bad. Pride and all that. I gotcha.” Eddie grumbles. “So, what else?”

“What do you mean?”

Richie gestures with his hand in an _‘as you were’_ motion.

“Dude, are you seriously gonna keep digging into my head like that? What more do you wanna know?”

Every small and obscure detail floating around in that mysterious brain of yours, Richie offhandedly thinks, but doesn’t voice. Instead, he says: “Is your phone number on the table?”

That’s when an odd look passes over Eddie’s face, one he hasn’t seen him wear before and it…. does something to him. Made him feel all jittery in the stomach and all that jazz. In the end, Eddie just shakes his head and the effect is gone. “I do a shit job at making friends.”

“Clearly.” Richie winks and ignores the sudden pink adorning the tip of Eddie’s ears. Eddie continues.

“How about we do this the right way? Talking it out, meeting each other properly? If I’m gonna start seeing you around this semester and spending time with you, I’d rather not do it basing you off of the info I got on the guy at the party.”

Richie tilts his head, “What’s so bad about the guy at the party?”

“Nothing, it's just not the best first impression. I’d rather start over. How about that?”

He thinks about it. It wasn’t that hard. “Sure, Eds.”

“Again with the _fucking_ nickname— You suck at this first impression thing, you know that?”

Richie rolls his eyes and throws his head back with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine,” He says. “ I'll do my best, _Eddie_. Now it's your turn.”

“Hmm…”

“What now?”

“My turn? Well, I would, but…”

He cleans his glasses using the hem of his sleeves. “But?”

“But,” Eddie raises a finger. “It can wait, since we’re _clearly_ eating lunch together. Remember?”

Richie actually has the decency to wince at that. “ _Yeah_ , my bad. You were in a pretty tight spot and I wanted to fish you out ASAP. You don’t really have to come eat with me and my homies.”

“And if I’d actually like to?”

Richie pauses, glasses hovering in front of his face. “Wait, you actually want to? It wasn’t weird or anything?”

There’s a stretch of lips and a chuckle falling from Eddie’s mouth. “Nah, don’t worry. I’d rather get comfortable where I’m already comfy enough. Plus, you couldn’t pay me enough to spend more time with that Myra girl. I had my fill.”

“Heh, for the school year?”

“Jesus Christ— more like for _life_.”

“Gotcha.” Richie grins. “Knew I was right to befriend you. You know your stuff, Eddster.”

_“Richie…”_

“ _Anyways!_ Sorry to cut this little convo short, but we’re already 15 minutes late to our first class. Not that it matters to me, but something tells me you’re crazy strict on this kind of stuff.” 

Eddie freezes. Then he looks up towards the clock ticking on the wall; he curses. 

“Shit. And on my first day, too.”

“What’s your first period?”

“Uh…” Eddie sticks out his tongue in thought. (“Cute” The voice pipes. Richie stomps it to the very back.) “Calculus.” He says in the end. 

“Great. Mr. Sid. I hate his quizzes. Follow me.” And Richie turns with a wave of his hand, leaving the musical’s sign up sheet both out of sight and temporarily out of mind. Eddie, as always, follows.

~*~

The lunch bell rings and Eddie shoves his Civics notes into his satchel. Great. Awesome. So far, so good. This wasn’t so bad. Maybe he’d end up liking it here and all his anger and sadness would fade away over time. He could only hope, as he stood, satchel slung over his shoulder, and he went off in search of Richie.

Which, oh yeah, how surreal was that?! Eddie meets some guy at a party, the one time he has a taste of real lunacy incarnate, and now that he has, he can't get rid of him. Crazy. Absolutely nuts. And they’re friends now? What? Had befriending people ever been this easy before? Eddie can't remember. The last time he had ever actively searched for a friendship was with Bill and his little brother, Georgie, and even then it had been five years since. 

Totally wild. He, for one, can't wait to experience more.

“Spagheds!”

He winces and slowly turns. Spoke too soon. “Richie, you can't be actually planning on sticking to your stupid nicknames for the rest of the school year, right? I thought we were sticking to _great_ first impressions.”

“Stupid?” The tall mop of grinning hair halts next to Eddie and successfully reminds him of their height difference. Damn genes. “Bold words coming from a guy within noogie distance.”

“Touch me and I kill you.”

“Amazing first impression! Look at me, Eddie, I’m swooning!”

“Oh shut up.” Eddie rolls his eyes and goes to walk away. After a few steps, he calls over his shoulder: “Which way to the cafeteria?”

The arm snaking over his shoulders makes him jump, but it doesn’t startle him as hard as it had before. In fact, all it does is make him realize Richie’s touchy-feely attitude and invasion of personal space didn’t bother him as much as it's probably supposed to. Is that a good thing? A bad thing? He has no clue. “Actually,” Richie stops Eddie from moving, hand raised in a stop motion. Then he points to the left, “Our dining activities will not be partaking in the cafeteria today.”

Wait, come again? “I’m sorry, what's that supposed to mean?”

It comes to him as a surprise when he sees Richie start to grin, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, and Eddie is all but growing in curiosity and, God forbid, _excitement_. So many things could be running inside Richie’s head and all Eddie can manage to think is: Bring it on. Definitely not the first thing that should be front and center on his mind right this second.

“Won’t say.” Richie says, letting Eddie go as he maneuvered them down a hall to their left; one that was relatively desolate, much more so since everyone had gone the opposite direction. Most likely to the cafeteria. “It’s a surprise.”

“Surprises? You’re capable of those?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve already settled that I could.”

Eddie laughs and kicks at a small bundle of paper in his path. It flies and bounces off of a wastebasket next to a door. (As they pass by it again, Eddie leans down and properly throws it away.) “Yeah, okay, that’s true. You’re pretty fucking unpredictable.”

“I think ladies prefer to call me _mysterious._ ”

“Bullshit, you’re more like that one math test you think is easy and spend all hour resolving, only for the teacher to tell everyone to make sure they answered the ones at the back five minutes before sessions end.” Eddie jokes. He is delighted when it gets a cackle out of his companion. “But seriously, you’re not telling me? I’m just gonna have to follow you aimlessly until we hopefully reach our very safe, totally not dangerous destination?”

“Pretty much, Eddie.” Richie winks at him. “Welcome to Tozier Tour part two.”

“Tozier Tour?” Richie looks over his shoulder and catches Eddie smiling. “We’re still doing that?”

“Da’ we are, Edwa’ seh!”

There’s a bark of laughter. “Fucking Christ, oh my god, not this fucking shit again.”

“What, not a fan? I’m wounded.”

“Just saying, spooked me the first time; spooks me now too.”

“Noted. Remind me to use this Voice as you walk your lonesome way towards the auditorium. There’s a really dark hallway over there that you’ll _really_ enjoy.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I’d do a lot of things.”

“You _wouldn’t_.”

“Say it one more time, maybe it’ll come true. Like Bloody Mary.”

“I hate you.”

“Can’t wait to hang out with you either, Spaghetti.”

The laughter is swiftly interrupted with a crash somewhere in front of them. “Whoa!” Richie halts in surprise; Eddie bumps right into his back. “Ow—! Richie, warn a guy!”

No answer.

“Richie—?”

Richie waves a hand. “Shush.”

“Shush? What do you mean _shush?_ You hit the brakes and made me slam into your Great Wall of China, you don’t get to shush me—“

“Dude.

“—I mean you could’ve given a guy a warning, just saying!”

“Eds.”

“Ok, now you’re just trying t—!”

“Eddie, Shut up.”

“I— what?”

“Shut. Up.”

Startled, he does. Richie stays like a statue, unmoving and, admittingly, really creepy. 

“Richie?” Eddie pipes up after a few more seconds of silence, in a lower voice this time. “Dude, everything okay? What’s going on—?”

Another distant crash echoes, and Richie and Eddie silently witness a small Pepsi can roll into view from the end of the hall. It bumps with a “clink!” against the lockers on the wall. And there’s silence again. What? Eddie is still kinda left in the dark, and he contemplates whether to pick at Richie again or not. 

Then, there’s the voices. 

“I told him, I fucking told that son of a bitch to lay low for a while! But that asshole never listens, does he?! Of course not!” Another crash, nearer this time. More soda cans, crumpled papers and blobs of waste roll into view. “And now that he’s _expelled_ , the coppers may be tailing us next! And it’s all that fucking idiot’s fault!”

There’s fingers gripping Richie’s sleeve and Eddie doesn’t even remember moving them, much less grabbing at his companion. All he knows is that Richie’s face has paled and that his Adam’s apple has not stopped bobbing. Eddie eyes him with concern. “Uh, Richie? Everything alright?”

They flinch as one more crash bursts through the air. A trash can flies into view and slams onto the lockers, its contents flying everywhere on the walls, the floor and a bit on Richie’s shoe. 

His grip on the sleeve tightens and Eddie’s voice rises in realization. “Wait, is that—?”

“Yes.” Richie squeaks. 

“Should we—“

“No.”

“Then should we be—“

_“Yes.”_

The footsteps are now ringing as clear as day and they are very, very close— what the fuck are they doing just STANDING THERE, DON’T HESITATE, JUST FUCKING _RUN_ —!

Richie grabs at Eddie’s arm and runs back down the hallway. 

“Fuck—! _Richie—!_ ”

“Shut up!” Is his answer as he continues to drag him the other direction. Pain keeps biting at his armpit and elbow and it takes everything for him not to bite Richie’s head off then and there. So, he lets himself be yanked around, trusting Richie enough to know what he’s doing. 

He sees a stairwell up ahead, to their left and it seems Richie had seen it too, because they were now directed there instead. Their sneakers squeak as they rapidly dart to the rails. With a final push, they reach the steps, throw their backs against the walls and hide. They’re both panting.

“W-What…” Eddie tries to speak, waving a hand in the air between them. His cheeks are flushed and his hair bore the winning title of _hurricane hair_. Shit, his chest was tightening up. “Dude… y-you can’t… you _jerk_ , I have asthma!”

“Sorry.”

“M—My heart is beating so fast, I—I… God, I can’t breathe—!”

“Calm down, Eddie.”

“C—Calm down?! CALM DOWN—?!”

“Hey.” A far away voice starts, and the boys freeze. “Was that… Was that fuckin’ _Tozier?_ ”

Richie hisses, “Fuck. _Go!_ ” He pushes Eddie to run down the stairs, him jumping behind him. “Go, go, go, move!!!”

“I—I’m moving!” Eddie bites back, but starts jumping three steps at a time. His mother would have a heart attack if he ever saw him do such a daring thing. 

Footsteps grow rapidly faster and, in a moment of pure dumbassery, Eddie stops running (Richie bolts past him, never ceasing on his escape) and looks up the stairwell. 

A boy with sandy blonde hair and his goons’ smirks stared right back down. 

_Fuck._

He pushes himself to a sprint as he jumps the remaining five steps to the underground level and reaches the floor. Richie is still running far in front of him; Eddie struggles to catch up. Bowers’ angry shouts and thundering steps roar from above and Eddie thinks he’s done for. Then he hears a sharp whistle. 

Eddie spots Richie skidding to a halt and looking back at him. He’s ushering at him to hurry up.

With the speed he was going, he reached Richie in no time. “What?!” He gasps. “What now?!”

Richie sharply shushes him and clutches at his satchel. He moves again, quickly steering them along into a hall to their left. Eddie makes a sputtered noise behind him. Richie tries to keep them alive long enough. 

“Where’d they go?!” Comes the roaring echo of the boy Eddie now knows to be Henry Bowers. “Split up!”

“Henry, dude, it's lunchtime and I’m hungry as hell, man—“

_“Do it, you fucking pussy!”_

There’s an intake of breath and now Richie had sped up his step. Eddie did his best to keep up and keep quiet. There’s a door at the far end of the hall. Both of them make a run for it.

“Where’d you run off to, little fairy?” A guy’s taunting laugh bounced through each wall. “We just wanna know how you spent your winter break! Had a blast at the New Years party, huh?!”

Richie slams against the classroom door and wrestles with the doorknob. It wouldn’t budge. Words tumbled rapidly under his breath (“please, _please_ , let it be unlocked, please not today, not now—“) and Eddie kept glancing over his shoulder for the imminent arrival of their doom. _God, they were so dead._

Much closer than earlier, a pang of a door being kicked open resonates through the air. “Saw another guy with you, Tozier! Was that your friend, _Scotty?_ ” The voice taunted.

Eddie’s blood ran cold. He pushed at Richie’s shoulder. “Richie, hurry up—“

“Shut up, I’m trying—“

“Richie—“

_“Eddie—!“_

_“Richie—!”_

The door swings open. Richie immediately dives right in, pulling Eddie along. Once inside, Richie turns, slams the door shut, locks it, and holds his breath. Eddie’s lungs expand and contract to the point of hurting him physically. His head is running at 100 miles per hour. His hands can’t stop shaking like a cat out of water. Which way was up? Which way was down?

He doesn’t feel too good.

~*~

Seconds tick by. He can hear the bullies out in the hall, taunting them, laughing, and calling out insults. They never spot or approach the door and continue on their merry way past. Richie lets out an immense breath of air and falls against the door. 

“Oh my god,” He wheezed. “That was insane. I hate those guys so much. One day— one of these days I’m going to— _fuck—_ I’m gonna break ‘em apart. Just you watch, Eds, I’m gonna make ‘em pay so bad— They’re the fucking _worst—!_ ”

There’s the sound of someone clearing their throat and he stops. Two pairs of wide eyes land on him.

“Huh.”

Slowly, Richie grins, “Whatdya know. Sup, guys.”

“D-Do we even wanna know?”

“‘Course you do. Bowers.”

“Yeah, t-that’d do it.” Bill smiles and lowers his pen. “Hey, Rich. N-Nice winter break?”

The classroom was warm, made you feel like you’re breathing through a straw, and was very much desolated; bathed in dust and cobwebs, desks thrown over other desks, all pushed to the very back of the room, leaving room for whoever deemed necessary to walk inside (usually teachers who hooked up, kids who skipped class, groups who came for an unsupervised smoke, the rare instances where people _actually_ came to study, and, of course, kids who wanted to get away from the world. Namely, Bill Denbrough and Stanley Uris.)

“Yeah, sure. If you count spending six hours out of my vacation days stuck in my dad’s office watching Tom and Jerry on the T.V while the sound of a drill and a child’s scream rings in the background a nice winter break.” Richie straightens up. “My parents try, I swear.”

“No one doubts your parents, Richie.” A voice to his left pipes and he smiles wider. “We just pity them since they had to deal with you for the other twelve hours of the day for four whole weeks.”

“Stan! My man! My main man— my _favorite_ six-pointed star child, how I’ve missed you!” Some rapid shuffling occurs, and a second later, Richie has engulfed the lean figure sitting atop the teacher’s desk in a warm, and admittingly suffocating, hug. The boy struggles to push him off.

“Get _off_ , Richie!”

“But I hadn’t seen you for weeks!” Richie pouts, not easing his grip. “I thought you’d be happier to see me, Stanny.”

“See, it’s the ‘Stanny’ part that really shatters any and every particle of excitement I ever possessed to greet your face again.”

“You love me.”

“Against my will.”

“Ha ha! That’s a good one, Stan!”

“Your mother offered me a fully paid college year and 20 bucks. I couldn’t say no.”

“Bold of you to claim my mom owns anything over 4 bucks and 37 cents.”

“I have dreams where I never offered you that Clifford jumbo sticker.”

A pained gasp escapes Richie and he jumps back as if burned. “YOU LIE!”

“You wish I did.”

“STANLEY, WHY?!”

“Can you blame a man for dreaming of a better world?”

“STAN!”

“Uh—“ Bill swiftly interrupts, closing the book he had in hand shut. “I-Is that— hold on, is that _E-Eddie?!”_

At the mention of his briefly-forgotten tag-along, Richie abandons Stan (“Finally,” He gasps.) and gives his best friend his full attention, “Oh yeah! Wow, Bill, wouldn’t y’know— surprised me too, he just popped up here at school out of nowhere and guess what? We share homeroom! Who’d have thunk?”

“Richie.”

“Yeah?”

Bill wordlessly strides past him, shoving his book at Richie’s chest, making him scramble to catch it with a confused huff. His eyes follow him towards the back of the room, behind the stacks of creaky desks. “Yo, Bill, what the heck?”

A small tuft of hair peeks out from the other side and Bill disappears behind them. It takes a few seconds, not that many, but Richie quickly realizes a couple of things at the same time. First of all, he hadn’t seen Eddie ever since he pulled him inside the room to hide from Bowers. Second, he hadn’t even heard a peep come out of him either. Lastly, that tuft of hair hiding at the back of the room was, in fact, Eddie.

“Shit…” Richie and Stan share a look. Then, Stan jumps off the desk and they both stride closer to the other boys. For some reason, a growing weight starts to swell inside Richie’s chest. Oh boy… They reach the back and slowly peek around the barrier of dust and rotting walls of wood. The sight that greets him has him pause.

Bill is kneeled in front of Eddie, who sits in a fetal position, back against the wall and a blank look on his face. He doesn’t seem to be breathing. He’s also shaking.

“E-Eddie?” Bill hovers a hand over his knee. “Dude, y-you t-there?”

His eyes flicker upwards and Richie notices that he is, in fact, breathing. It just so happens he’s doing it _so fast_ and _so fucking shallow_ , it barely shows. A bit of fear creeps up his spine as he watches from the sidelines how Eddie’s eyes make him look out of it, a huge contrast to a few minutes ago.

Eddie doesn’t let up on the breathing. “Eddie.” Bill continues to call. “W-What do you need?”

Eddie blinks rapidly. “Bill?”

“H-Hey, man, I’m here. Listen, deep b-bre— _Eddie_ , look at me.”

He does.

“Listen to me. Deep breaths. In and out. Four seconds in, hold four, seven out.” Eddie shakes harder.

“B-Bill, my inhaler—“

“I know, but you can do this, come on.”

“Bill—“

“Come on, Eddie.” Bill shifts in his place and adjusts himself so he is sitting in front of him, legs crossed and hands hovering over his bent knees. At that, Eddie’s hand darts out and grips onto Bill’s. He squeezes tight. “Do it with me, follow me, four seconds in, let's go.”

Richie and Stan watch the developing situation in quiet shock. So much is happening so fast, what can they even do? What can Richie do? Bill isn’t even stuttering… Was it that serious? God, what happened?

_You did this_ , a new voice whispers. Terrified, Richie pushes it far, far away and doesn’t dare look at it. 

Eddie’s breathing starts slowing down afterwards, as he follows Bill’s actions, and soon enough, his eyesight has cleared up. He rapidly blinks again. “I—“ He shakily rubs at his eyes. “G-God…” He murmurs. “What…”

Bill leans back on his hands, giving him some space. “Hey, man, you all there?”

Eddie takes a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah…” He eventually sighs. “Yeah, all here.”

“S-Seems Buh… B-Bowers freaked you o-out a bit, huh?”

He gives a weak chuckle that could easily pass off as a grimace, and says nothing else. Richie slowly approaches them.

“Hey, uh,” Bill looks up at him; Eddie still has his face in his hands. “You okay, Eddie? That was… that was a bit of a scare you gave there. Everything okay?”

“Sure.” Was his muffled response. “Being chased down like a wild animal by a rabid and murderous teenager while being scared half to death wasn’t exactly my idea of an ideal first day of school, but sure. Everything’s okay.”

Regret sits hard in Richie’s throat and he guiltily drops the subject. Stan, who always knows when to change the subject, places a hand on his shoulder and asks: “So… who’s the new kid?”

Eddie raises his head at that and, wow, yeah, he doesn’t look all that great. Eyes now dull, face lost of color and an empty frown replacing his former teasing smiles and sharp grins. Better, but still oh, so bad. 

“This is E-Eddie. We go way back.” Bill explains. He then turns to the boy in question. “Eddie, this is Stanley. He’s also a fr… friend of mine, a-alongside Richie.”

Eddie raises a hand in greeting. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” Stan says back, scratching at his arm. After a beat, he adds: “Sorry about Bowers. You know, the whole… yeah, he scares everyone here at school. Even the teachers are scared of him.”

A bit of light flashes in Eddie’s eyes, and Richie’s guilt lessens slightly. “You’re kidding.” 

“I wish I was, uh, Eddie. How do you think he manages to move on to the next grade? Through hard work and dedication?”

The casual mood relieves Eddie’s tense shoulders and he slumps against the wall, head tilted towards them. “I don’t know!” He complains. “I just got here, like, two weeks ago! I haven’t seen _anything_ from Derry apart from my house, the abandoned high school from New Years and this school here! And from what little I’ve seen, I can see there’s not that much to _enjoy!_ ” His fist collides on the floor next to him. At the sharp pain, he quickly retreats his hand close to his chest, hissing. His eyes shut tightly and he drops his head back against the wall. He sighs. “God...”

Richie, Stan and Bill watch him carefully. It was clear the situation was new to them (more so Richie and Stan than Bill), so it was with greater care and wariness that they waited for the newcomer of the group to recollect himself and speak again. It doesn’t take too long before that.

“So… there’s no escaping him?” Is what Eddie eventually says.

Richie stops fidgeting with his tightly-wounded scarf (he should really take it off by now, he looks ridiculous even by his standards) and raises a finger, “Now, we didn’t say that.” 

Eddie actually looks at him head-on and Richie takes that as a good sign. “ _Now_ what?”

Bill starts standing up, brushing the dust from his jeans and flannel, and says with a tentative, knowing smile: “W-What Richie means is… we’re kinda e-experts on av-v-voiding Bowers a-and his guys.”

A strange look passes through Eddie’s eyes. He glances at the three other boys in the dirty classroom, all of which shared the same smile Bill adorned. Subconsciously, he started gathering his satchel up and fixing his attire. “Why? He hates you guys on the double or something? What are we getting at here?”

“Anyone else hungry?” Richie says instead, moving forwards and extending a hand towards Eddie. He takes it.

“I mean it _is_ lunchtime, you idiot. Take a fucking guess.”

Stan laughs. “I like him”

Bill stands next to Eddie and nudges him with his shoulder, “Well, seems we gotta hurry up then.”

“Wait, you guys are eating with me and Richie?”

They laugh. “Uh, _yeah_ ,” Stan walks over to a bag slung over the top of the teacher’s desk he had been situated over before. He picks it up, digs his hand inside, and pulls out a neatly wrapped lunch, filled with napkins and forks and stuff. “And I’m starving. Hideout?”

Next to him, Bill picks up his own school bag. “As always.”

“Hideout?” Eddie asks nervously. Richie, all nerve gone, slings his arm around his shoulders again and is delighted when he is not pushed off. He’d rather not think about the playout of Eddie actually pushing him off and, eventually, away. 

He never wants to see his new friend that upset ever again.

“That’s right, Eddie! Think of the best fine-dining experience you can imagine— are you imagining it? Good, now throw that fucker out the window! Today, you dine with the Losers’ Club!”

~*~

A lot of steps. So many steps. 

“Where even are we?” Eddie muses, closely following Stan, Bill and Richie up a very long flight of stairs. He almost trips. “I don’t even think students are allowed up here.”

“Of course they are, Spaghetti!” Richie calls from the front of the group, skipping two steps at a time; something Eddie’s mother would scream her head off at if she ever witnessed such an atrocity herself. “The biology club does rounds up here all the time!”

“But it’s not even class hours yet— And are any of you even in the biology club?”

Stan shakes his head, breaths uneven as he turns to speak to Eddie. “Not really. Bill’s a mathlete, I’m on the Chem club and Richie’s on the basketball team. We sorta just come up here to get away from things—whoa!” He nearly misses a step, swiftly catching himself in time. Eddie’s hand had also shot out to help him, something that showed Stan was grateful for. “Ay… Yeah, anyway, no one really comes up here. Not willingly, anyway.”

“I see…” Eddie continues his trek upwards, still feeling kind of put out at the fact that he may get in trouble again if he continued on with Bill and the guys and— “Wait, did you say Richie was on the _basketball team?_ ”

Up front, Richie calls out from over his shoulder, “What— surprised I actually work out, Spaghetti? I know my clothes make me look scrawnier than usual, but come _on_.”

“No, no, it's not that.” Eddie tries to shake the vivid picture of a very ripped Richie popping up uninvited in his head. “I just, you know…”

“What?”

“I pegged you for more of a theater guy.”

Bill and Stan share a surprised look. Richie nearly misses his two-step skip. “What— _why?_ ”

“Well, because of the singing! And the voices, and the very obvious dramatic flare you always have whenever you become so full of yourself you—“

“Blow?”

“Watch it, Tozier.”

“Hold on.” Stan quickly interjects. “What’s this about singing?”

“Didn’t Bill tell you—“

“Oh look! We’re here!” Richie voices a little too loudly and finishes jumping up the remaining five steps to stand in front of a door. Stan grunts, displeased, before following suit. Eddie, although a bit confused, drops the subject for now. He and Bill soon stand in front of the door with them.

It’s big, white, and has one of those little keyboards on it with a small red light bulb above. The world behind it can only result in one thing: the great outdoors.

Richie knocks on the door thrice. With a jolt, Eddie hears knocking from the other side. 

“First S!” Richie offers after it with a wide grin.

“O!” Says Bill.

“E!” Says Stan.

“And a friend!” Richie finishes, and Eddie doesn’t miss the quick glance sent his way as he says this.

“A friend?” A voice calls. The light above the door turns green and, with a whining creak, the door swings open, unleashing a bright shower of sunlight upon Eddie’s eyes. He blinks rapidly to adjust, and once he does, he’s faced with a small set of steps, forming an upwards spiral. A sharp whistle snaps him to attention and he looks up in time to spot a red-headed girl in a green sweater with a grin that, eerily enough, rivals Richie’s. She looks down at them, leaning against a rail and pressing a finger to a button of sorts on the pillar beside her. “I swear, Touz, if that friend of yours happens to be another one of those _lab partners_ of yours, I’m cutting off your bangs in your sleep.”

“Beverly! Sharp as always! Keep it up and you won’t need scissors for it!”

Her smirk softens into a smile and Eddie easily imagines her hanging out and caring for any one of them. She steps back, letting all four of them walk through onto the school’s roof deck. “Welcome back, boys. Have a good break, Bill?”

“Y-Yeah. Didn’t do much, but G-G-Georgie learned to play sudoku, s-so it was pretty eventful.” 

“Oh, ‘that keep him busy enough?” 

“Not really. H-He was dying to go back to school b...b-by the fourth day.”

“Eh, another two weeks away from this place wouldn’t have been _that bad_.”

“Hi, Stan.”

Shaking his head and chuckling at their antics, Eddie climbs the spiral steps and immediately feels the heat of the sun warm his cheeks and the breeze brush his arms when he reaches the top. He lifts a hand to block his eyes from the light and takes a look around. It’s easy to see, he thinks with a pleased hum, why this place was primarily the biology class’ area. 

The stretched-out rooftop was filled to the brim with plants and flowers, throwing bursting colors and summer feelings headfirst into a sweet, beautiful, honey-like pot, creating the stunning garden surrounding him. To his right, there’s a tall, gazebo-like structure taking up the entire lower-right corner of the deck. It’s wrapped around with steel railing, boarded with racks and shelves overflowing with ferns and bushes and stems and flowers of many kinds; some in pots on the floor, others suspended in the air. A few benches lay scattered about in strategic spots, Eddie guesses, for seeking shade, depending on the time of day. Thanks to the absence of solid walls (the wooden roof was held up by wooden pillars and steel beams), the clear, blue sky and the quickly dissipating white of the lands of Derry greet him with suspiciously inviting, open arms and masking tales to tell and— _God_ — was this a _sight_. Truly a wonderful place to escape to.

He drops his satchel onto the deck, crosses his arms over the railing and sighs. If he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough, he can still imagine he’s back at his apartment complex in New York, up on the 8th floor, kneeling on his bedsheets, head out the window, inhaling the oddities in the air that were honestly not that bad, not like Mom always said, like whenever you breathe in the smoke of someone else’s cigarette, your lungs could crash and you could go into shock and die—

“Hold up, what’s the new kid doing here?”

His train of thought screeches into a halt and Eddie turns to see the red-head (What was her name? Beverly?) lifting a finger his way and sending the other three boys a confused arch of her brow. Bill steps in. 

“Right, uh, Bev, this… t-this is my friend, Eddie. We g-go way back.” 

She just looks further lost. “Wait, so the guy Richie made get detention on his first day is Bill’s friend?”

The memory of the murmured giggling and the heavy embarrassment heats up his cheeks again. He clears his throat to try and shy it away. 

“Yes,” Richie answers this time, and if Eddie had to guess, he’d say Richie felt just as bad about the past ordeal as he did. Good. “We met at New Years. The party, you know the one?”

“By Ben’s house? At Deirdre Street?”

“That’s the one. It was a whole meet-cute sort of thing. There was karaoke and strawberry shortcakes and everything.” Eddie thinks he imagines the wink sent his way. Either way, Richie continues: “And y’know, we talked, hung out, the rest is history.”

“Wait, wait—“ Beverly (Bev???) shakes her head, pushing to wrap her head around something. “So _why_ did you intend to pass that note in class and throw all your stuff to the ground?”

“Uh…” Richie lifts a hand and adjusts his very bright, red scarf around his neck. (Forget the chilling breeze, with the type of expression Richie was now adorning, Eddie thinks he might just die of a heat stroke with it that tight.) “Well, I dunno. Seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“The note?”

“Yeah.”

“In Mrs. Darbus’ class?”

“Yeah.”

“Idiot.” Stan mumbles under his breath. Richie sticks out his tongue at him in return.

“And since Eddie got detention because of me, I figured I’d go down with him. You know, since it was my fault and all.” He finishes. Eddie has a hard time understanding just why a guy he doesn’t know all that well yet risked his day and his time for him. It didn’t add up. 

At the end of his explanation, Beverly (yeah, he’s sure that’s her name) takes a moment of contemplative silence as she stares at a blossoming magnolia to her right and considers his words. Her fingers tap a dull rhythm on her thigh, it being the only thing heard during that lapse. They wait until she hums and says: “So _this_ is the non-bullshit reason for your fiasco this morning? Why didn’t you just say so?”

It’s small, but Eddie sees Richie’s shoulders sag with relief at her words. “Seemed like a much longer story in my head. You know how my mind works, I’m sorry.”

She takes a deep breath; she exhales. “I love you, Richie, but that was dumb as fuck. Get your head in the game, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll take it.” Richie beams and jabs at her with his elbow. She yanks him down into a headlock and ruffles his hair, ignoring his yelps and drinking in Stan’s and Bill’s words of encouragement. Whatever was between them quickly dissipates and it’s then that Eddie can clearly see their friendship playing out perfectly in his head. It was easy. Carefree. Trusting. The whole thing was balanced. It worked. 

“Hey— Let _go_ — you break these frames, it comes out of your own pocket, young lady! _Thank_ you.” When he’s let go, he huffs and fixes the glasses atop his nose, as well as his scarf and, his hair (though Eddie believes there wasn’t that much to fix in the first place). Meanwhile, Stan and Bill take their places on the wooden floor. “Oh, and hey, now that you mention it…” 

Richie walks Eddie’s way and drops his bag next to his. He squats and rummages through it. “Where _is_ Haystack, anyway? And Homeschool too, while we’re at it.” He pulls out a not-so-neatly wrapped bag of muffins. They’re a bit smushed but Richie nods at them as if they’ve successfully fulfilled their purpose of looking appetizing and quickly bites at one. Crumbs stick to his lips. He wipes them away with the hem of his jacket sleeve. 

Beverly lifts a green apple (where did she even get that from?) and takes a chunk off of it too. “Well,” she says through her chewing. “They got held up. Drama department, you know how it is with Myra. Rehearsals before auditions even begin.” Her face sours. “Holes up Ben and Mike in the auditorium like freaking hostages. Makes me wanna punch her lights out.”

Stanley raises a hand from his spot on the floor, his sandwich (It’s brisket. Eddie can almost sense his mother’s nod of approval) momentarily forgotten on his napkin-covered lap. “If you get the hit in, I’m holding her down.”

“A-And we then take her clamshell mirror and get the hell o-out of Dodge.” 

“The point is to get the hit in and flee for our lives without the risk of catching her in our rear view mirror, Billiam.” Richie says.

“W-We could always slam the brakes?”

“You know what, I stand corrected.”

“ _The point is—_ “ Beverly throws her chewed apple into her yellow bag and pulls out a red thermos, going to sit on the floor next to Stan. “—Ben and Mike aren’t coming. It’s just us. And the new kid, of course.” She directs her next words to Eddie. “What was it? Eddie?”

Eddie nods. Beverly takes a sip of her drink and gives him a soft smile.

“Well, Eddie, have a seat. There’s enough to go around.” She raises her thermos at him. “Iced tea?” She asks. 

His stomach twists at the offer but he manages a grateful shake of his head. “No thanks. Not my cup of tea.” He sits between her and Richie.

“Oh, so you like other kinds of tea?”

No, he likes iced tea. It’s _your_ cup of tea he doesn’t like. The actual cup. Not his. _Germs._ “Pretty much.” 

“A man with class.” She punches him on the shoulder. He winces out a _Fuck!_ and cups at it with care. “About time you found yourself another one of those, Bill! Stan was getting stale.”

“Hey!”

“So, Eddie, what do you think of Derry so far?” Beverly starts with the dreaded questions and Eddie instantly feels everyone’s eyes on him. Richie playfully leans in and rests his cheek on the palm of his hand. Eddie is not amused. 

“It’s… not New York.” He says. “I mean, of course it isn’t, but it’s like the city is dead set on reminding me every chance it gets.”

“Had a run-in with Bowers, didn’t you?” 

Okay. Eddie is starting to believe this whole fiasco wasn’t really surprising to anyone here, which just so happens to absolutely blow his fucking mind. Batshit crazy teenager running around the streets? Oh that’s just ol’ Henry coming to get your lunch money and steal your dog. Classic Henry… Okay, you know, maybe this place isn’t so different from back home. The mullet was a surprise, though.

“Yeah.” Eddie answers and tries to be as honest as he can. Good first impressions. _You can do this, come on._ “I met him. Not face to face, but close enough to actively fear for my life. I saw him outside the party.” He still remembers going over the high school address at that intersection when he’d heard a shout and looked up to see Richie running towards him like a madman. “Richie bailed me out.” 

“Like a knight in shining armor.” Richie grins, finishing his muffin. “Swept in at the last minute. Still waiting for true love’s kiss, Spaguetti.”

“Here’s an idea: you quit calling me Spaguetti and you get to keep your kidneys.”

“A tempting offer. I do value my kidneys.” 

He rolls his eyes. Beverly, Stan and Bill sit and watch them silently. Once Eddie notices, Bill speaks:

“You two sure hit it off.”

He’s not sure how to respond to that. Beverly is the one that speaks next.

“That’s a good thing, don’t get us wrong.” She assures him. “It’s just a bit of a surprise. Not that many people put up with Richie this way, especially after a while—“

_“Hey!”_

“—and it’s not like he makes it easy.” She smiles apologetically. “And it’s awesome you gave us a chance, you know. I’m sure being new and all, you could be spending your time with _better_ crowds and the like. So thanks.”

Eddie is sure the pure confusion must be palpable on his face because next thing he knows, Beverly’s smile drops into an unamused frown and she asks: “He didn’t tell you?”

“Uh, tell me what?” He asks back and he dreads the answer. 

“That we’re the biggest losers in this school.” Stan says. He’s finished his sandwich and is now seated with his knees bent and his head resting on his arms. He’s also frowning, the crease between is eyebrows not going unnoticed. “Maybe in all of Derry. Whichever makes you happy.”

He’s not sure how to respond to that either, so instead he opts for glancing at Richie. He’s unnaturally quiet. It makes the the dread at the pit of his stomach solidify into soft confusion and something akin to sadness.

“You’re… losers?”

Everyone nods. _Okay._

“I stutter.” Bill offers. “You know that. B-But it gets worse when I get nervous o-or something triggers me or… well, I can’t sp… sp— _fuck_ , I can’t _spit_ words out. Whether it be at Olympiads, oral reports, conversations on the halls— Kids laugh. I’m called a loser.”

“Somehow, not eating pork and not celebrating Christmas makes me an outsider to everyone at school.” Stan absentmindedly picks at his suspenders. “It’s stupid, but very much real here. So I’m labeled a loser too.”

“I play basketball, which isn’t much,” Beverly crosses her arms. “but when you hang around the art club on the daily and your boyfriend who you love _very_ much used to be the quote-unquote _‘fat kid’_ and is also in the drama club, well, it steals you a bunch of brownie points.” She jabs a thumb at herself. “Loser.”

“Literally _none_ of these things make you a loser!” The anger that starts boiling inside Eddie is unexpected but, surprisingly, not unwelcome. Sadly… it was a bit _too_ welcome. “What the hell is _wrong_ with these people? They’re the ones who should be called losers! What with how much energy their one brain cell must be losing just to operate on a day-to-day basis and come up with bullshit and degrading ways to make them feel better about themselves. I mean, I thought it couldn’t be that bad, but _wow_ is this an eye-opener—! And don’t get me started on that _Myra_ girl—!” He thinks he sees Richie grin at the corner of his eye. “ _Dumbass_ this, _losers_ that— she has NO regard for those around her and who they are and how they feel— who does she even think she is?! Queen of the world?! Who gave her the right to choose who’s considered above who— I mean, was she even RAISED correctly— how can she say those things?!— How can she speak to Richie like that?! And most of the students here are _rude_ and mean and pay no mind to their education or building relationships and instead fall under the reign of others who are SO MUCH WORSE LIKE THAT _DAMN_ HENRY BOWERS— and hey, what gave _him_ the right to pick at anyone he wishes, like, where are the teachers?! Where’s the authority?! Why don’t they help?! I swear to _God_ , if there’s anyone here who’s a loser it’s those idiots who are losing their chances on living a damn good life with people like _you guys_ to fucked up system that will leave them ruined! _CHRIST!_ ”

… 

Part of him expected the stunned silence. The rest of him recognizes he’s stood up from his seat, his hands have clenched into fists and his breath rivaled that off an enraged dragon. This part feels pure, insurmountable shame. Oops.

He hastily moves to sit down again and he keeps busy by clamping his hands over his mouth and studying the yellow daffodils to his left. Pretty daffodils. Perfect daffodils. Unable-to-fuck-up-his-chances-of-inclusion-into-a-friend-group daffodils. Damn it. _Damn_ it. 

“... Eddie?”

He groans and drags his hands to cover his full face. 

“Eddie.”

He mumbles something, he’s not sure what, but he knows it’s somewhere near “Sorry.”

“Hey, Eds.”

His head slowly raises at that, if only to rescue what little bit of dignity he can gather, and tries to glare. He thinks he fails. “What?” His voice is small.

Then Richie is shoving his misshapen lunch bag in his face and all he says is, “Want a muffin?”

Eddie takes the muffin. And the pats on his arm from Beverly. And the beaming eyes from Stan. And the grateful nod from Bill.

Bill starts up a conversation about a bird-watching event coming up in three weeks and it’s all they talk about up until the bell rings and they have to pick their things up to leave. During their final chat, Beverly voices that she shares Eddie’s next class: World History. And so with a quick fist bump goodbye to Stan, Bill and Richie, he slings his satchel over his head and leaves with Beverly by his side, commenting on his clothes and how she’d like to wear something similar someday. Eddie tells her she could. He tells her he could always lend her his when that day comes. 

She says thank you. Eddie finds she means it.

~*~

Contrary to popular belief, Richie likes to keep his word. It keeps his close relationships that much closer and new ones open to that very closeness. So yes, he will keep his word for as long as he will allow himself. So, Richie does meet up with Eddie for free period, he does walk him to the auditorium through the very dark and ominous hallway and he most definitely does _not_ use his Voice when they cross it. Eddie, Richie believes, has had enough scares for one day.

He can handle not keeping his word for today if it meant Eddie wouldn’t be upset.

When they had stepped through the oak double doors of the auditorium, Mrs. Darbus had immediately called for their attention from the stage amongst other working students and urged them to get going. She quickly briefs them on the fact that the lighting department had, in fact, managed to go through with their daily check easily, so all that was left to do was help out with the scenography and wardrobe. In mutual agreement, the boys set off towards the paintbrushes and giant structures of styrofoam and cardboard. They settle on a particular corner of the stage and start off with painting what was supposed to be King Hamlet’s tomb. Eddie, the outside; Richie, the inside. 

Eddie was still struggling in the process of figuring out how to hold his paintbrush to draw in the stone cracks right, when Richie drops his and sits down with a sigh. “Eddie.” He calls.

The other boy briefly glances up at him, before returning to his concentrated state on his brush. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to say thanks.” Eddie stops painting and raises his head completely, focus shifting onto him now. “For what you said back at lunch, I mean.”

“Rich, you don’t have to thank me. It… it was more of a burst in the moment. I-I have those a lot. And I know it was out of nowhere and really uncalled for—“

“No, look, Eddie.” Richie shakes his head and puts his brush aside. He crosses his arms over the tomb’s ridge, rests his head on them and holds Eddie’s gaze. His eyes are really brown. “You don’t get it. Guys like us? Bev, Stan, Bill, Ben, Mike and I? We’ve only had each other. We’ve lived here _our whole lives_ and lemme tell you, it sucks. Everyday you wake up and you think: _Is it gonna be today? Will today be the day the town snaps and gets rid of us for good?_ Because Derry may have it’s perfect record for yearly enrollments, pretty sights and a visually appealing get-away, but if there’s one thing you need to know about Derry, it’s that the town _hates_ those who are different.” 

In a really weird way, the already chilling air in the auditorium gets colder. Richie knows; the town is holding its breath and listening in on the conversation. 

“You break its rules, you disappear. It needs to keep its order. That’s why people like Henry Bowers and Myra Driscoll exist. To maintain it. And losers like us, well, we’re target number one.” Richie reaches up to his neck and kneads through the red wool clothing it. “So the fact that when you came here, talked with us, hung out with us and said all those things… it kinda makes us feel like we’re not alone. We know its not fair, but it’s nice to know other people think so too, especially those from the outside.” He clears his throat, the air already drying it to the point of irritation and mild pain. “That’s why, y’know… Thanks and all that.”

The brush in Eddie’s hand had long since fallen from his grip, the blue paint dripping onto his jeans, but he remained impartial to it as he openly gaped at Richie. A bit of pink dusted his cheeks, most likely from the praise, and the continuous bobbing of his Adam’s apple was probably him downing Richie’s word vomit. Either way, Richie waited.

“Um…” Eddie licks at his lips. “I… genuinely don’t know what to say to that.”

Richie huffs out a smirk, “I’m no expert on the matter, but I think _‘You’re welcome’_ is suitable enough.”

“Okay then.” Eddie breathes out and all of his tension and worry lines evaporate with it. The corner of his lips turn up slightly with his next words. “You’re welcome.” He says. Richie knows he means it.

The sound of doors slamming open echoes through the auditorium and everybody freezes in their spot. They all look to the entrance and there they see two figures making their way towards the stage. When Richie makes out their forms, he closes his eyes and groans.

“Where’s my captain, Darbus?!” Coach Tozier (Dentist during the morning, coach in the afternoon. What, you expected his dad to not have two jobs? In this economy?) raises his arms in a haste. Richie sees his eyes land on him. He groans again. “What the— _what the heck is he doing inside a tomb?!_ ”

“Uh, Richie…?” Eddie gives him a wary eye, but Richie just shakes his head and shrugs. Dads.

Mrs. Darbus crosses her arms, not backing down. “It’s called Crime and Punishment, Tozier. Besides, proximity to the arts—“ She gestures to the theatrical set behind her. “— is cleansing for the soul!”

“We need to talk. Please.” Coach grits out. “And you—“ He points at Richie. “—in the gym, _now_.”

Richie gives Eddie a look that hopefully translates to “I’m so sorry my dad is making a horribly humiliating example of me right when we got to chatting, but I hope we can see each other soon anyway and keep it up”. Eddie, albeit awkwardly, gives him a thumbs up and waves him goodbye when he jumps out of the empty casket and off the stage. As he walks towards the doors, Richie sees the second figure materialize in front of him.

Beverly, dressed in her uniform, grimaces. “I’m so sorry, he beat it out of us.”

“It’s fine.” Richie says, pushing the doors open and leaving the auditorium. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Right. Head in the game?” Beverly offers him her fist. Richie bumps it.

“Head in the game.”

~*~

 _“Oh dear, this won’t do…” Fate grumbles in his seat. “Sure, we’ve gotten far, but not far enough. I wonder how far in will be enough, though._ ”

_“Dearest Fate,” Coincidence solidifies next to him and places her hands over his shoulder. “Sweetest of the sweets, dear, trust in your power._ ”

_“I know, oh, I know I should. It is meant to be, after all.” He mumbles. A headache kept coming up and his fingers over his temple did almost nothing to soothe it. “But, the vile creature’s magic is too strong. I wonder if it would reach the point where it can overpower even destiny. It’s happened once…”_

_“And it will not happen again.” Coincidence is firm with her words. “Trust in my words, Fate. The element of unpredictability is on our side. It will set things right.”_

_“I know, my Lady.” The name leaves him easily. “Nothing can get past you. Not even that foul beast and It’s putrid spells. You’ve won It out before. You’ll do it again.”_

_“We will.” The image before them twists into two screens as the two boys from the story part ways for the day. The unmistakable aura of something much older, much darker than the dark itself, follows the two. It does so with a wicked smile. “And they will too.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three is underway :)
> 
> Come cry about the clown movie with me over at Tumblr!
> 
> @paper-lilypie 
> 
> — Lily :)

**Author's Note:**

> —
> 
> Heya guys, hope you enjoyed the read! ^^
> 
> If you came here from Tumblr, make sure to subscribe or follow so you can stay updated for when the next chapter comes out. Stay tuned, everyone!
> 
> -Lily


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